


Yours Before I Knew

by RestedAbandon, Sapphires_and_Gold



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV), Persuasion - Jane Austen
Genre: Alternate Universe - Jane Austen Fusion, Alternate Universe - Regency, Bathtubs, Braime - Freeform, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Heavy Angst, POV Alternating, Pining, Slow Burn, Sparring, Swordfighting, it's a lot of angst, the slowest burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-09
Updated: 2019-12-21
Packaged: 2021-01-26 00:48:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 35
Words: 97,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21365419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RestedAbandon/pseuds/RestedAbandon, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sapphires_and_Gold/pseuds/Sapphires_and_Gold
Summary: You were you,and I was I,we were two,before our time.I was yours,before I knew;and you have alwaysbeen mine too.(Lang Leav, “Always”)
Relationships: Arya Stark/Gendry Waters, Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth, Olenna Tyrell/Kevan Lannister, Podrick Payne/Sansa Stark, Tyrion Lannister/Tysha
Comments: 1140
Kudos: 455





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Lovely cover by [Ro_Nordmann](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ro_Nordmann)

Lady Olenna Lannister of Casterly Rock was a woman who, for her own amusement, rarely took up any book but the baronetage. She’d had occupation enough in the concerns of her home and on the rearing of her charges, but here in this book she found distraction for an idle hour, and consolation in a distressed one, the latter of which she had many these last few years.  
  
As she turned over the almost endless creations of the last century -- and there, if every other leaf were powerless, she could read her own history with an interest that never failed -- this was the page at which the favorite volume always opened:

LANNISTER OF CASTERLY ROCK  
“Kevan Lannister, born 1760; married Olenna Tyrell 1782, by which lady he has issue: Mariah, born 1784; married Armandt Tyrell of Highgarden 1802, issues thence:  
Margaery born 1803, Loras born 1805.”

Both her daughter and son-in-law had a small “(d. 1810)” next to their names written in an ill hand. A dreadful pox had passed through the country from West to East in that year, leaving fatherless babes and motherless orphans strewn about the country, and no house -- great or otherwise -- had been safe. And so the late Tyrells’ young children, then seven and five years of age had been left in the care of their grandparents. 

On the page opposite of Kevan’s was his younger brother. The printer would have included him on the first, but there had been no more room. As Kevan and Olenna had issued no son, this brother was heir presumptive to Casterly Rock:

“Tywin Lannister, Vice-Admiral born 1762; married Joanna Hill of Lannisport 1790 (who died 1800), by which lady he had issue:  
Cersei born 1795; married Robert Baratheon of Storm’s End 1814.  
Jamie born 1795  
Tyrion born 1800.”

Tywin Lannister’s page was soon to become the more favored, for Olenna had only just taken up pen and ink and inscribed “(d. 1830)” adjacent to her excellent husband’s name. Kevan, after a long and treacherous illness had surrendered his being, surrounded by all those who had loved him best -- his stalwart wife, his doting grandchildren, and the most constant companion of his later life, dearest Brienne. 

The same year in which the youngest Tyrells had lost their parents, Olenna had learned of the passing of her cousin who had, too, been taken by the epidemic; as she was his nearest relation by blood, if not by distance -- for Tarth was as far East from Casterly Rock as one might get in the same country -- Lady Lannister had been given oversight of her cousin’s young daughter, who was then of an age with Margaery. Thinking the girl to be a cousinly comfort to her grandchildren, the Lannisters took her in as their ward and raised them all together. And though Brienne’s name was not put down in the book of this or any other baronetage, she was much appreciated in the hearts of those who chose to call her family. 

* * *

The Tyrell siblings were anxious to get to town and establish themselves following the death of their grandfather, and Olenna was anxious to be away before the new Lord Lannister descended onto the estate that she had called home for most of her years. Brienne was to stay behind and ensure the house was settled and all their rightful property shipped ahead before joining them; rather than be left to her solitude, her friend Lady Catelyn Stark would join her. Catelyn, a woman of steady age and character, had been a close friend of the family since she and Mariah had been girls. She had found herself settling close by her intimate friend in marriage and, when that friend had been called on to quit those who’d loved her, Catelyn became closer still with Olenna. She was now summoned from the neighboring village to see them all off and to assist Brienne whom she had grown to love as a daughter even more than the Tyrells could claim. Her son had been raised among the young Tyrells and their cousin, Robb being born of Catelyn’s first marriage and being already ten years old before the first siblings of her second were born. 

The public is rather apt to be unreasonably discontented when a woman marries again. But as it was encouraged by Lord and Lady Lannister, Catelyn needed make no apology for it. She remarried to the brother of her late husband and continued to fill the halls of both Winterfell and Casterly Rock with the sounds of laughing children for some years. She found comfort in her friend’s mother, but it was only with the ward of Casterly Rock that she could fancy her friend revived again. For while Mariah’s own children had taken after their father in looks and demeanor, and were encouraged in their idleness by their grand-parents, Brienne had come to the family quite plain, and would remain so, giving her leave for more intelligent pursuits. 

In Brienne, Catelyn had seen an excellent match for Robb, and the closeness of their upbringing had made engagement an obvious step to her. But it would never be taken. 

At sixteen, Brienne had been distracted by a fancy which eventually diminished at Catelyn and Olenna’s joint encouragement. But even then, Brienne had not agreed to marry Robb. Catelyn thought it a show of humility - that perhaps Brienne thought her lack of name and status unsuitable for the heir of Winterfell. But Robb, in her refusal, had not been unhappy as a result, and they all continued in their pleasant familiarity, as ever they had. 

The war with Essos carried on, and carried away many of the neighborhood’s young men. After Catelyn’s second husband perished therein, Robb and his cousin Jon had insisted on joining the fray. And within five years of their joining the seemingly endless war, the letters sent home from every port were ended with a final missive from Jon reporting the loss of his cousin. Brienne grieved as heartily as any of the Starks cementing, in Catelyn’s mind, Brienne’s true feelings for her son, and she drew her even closer to their small family circle than before. 

It was for this reason that Catelyn came to Casterly Rock now, as the Tyrells and the former Lady Lannister prepared to depart. She sought to expedite the process for Brienne, and then would see her stay at Winterfell for a few weeks, before she had to quit the country forever. Lady Stark was herself fond of Harrenhal, and she promised Olenna that they would meet there in spring, when she saw Bran there to take the medicinal baths. Olenna had waved the thought away and then proceeded to beg Catelyn to make sure not a pin more than was due him was left behind in the house for the new Lord Lannister. There had been no love lost between Olenna and Tywin over the years - that had been key in her reasoning for joining Catelyn in their advice to Brienne some ten years before, and she praised herself for successfully removing that unwanted distraction from the dear child’s fancies, and for causing turmoil in Tywin Lannister’s corner when his heir then threw himself into the war. 

And now she would ensure that Tywin and his children would see little satisfaction in the estate on their arrival, and she said as much to Catelyn as they sat for their final breakfast, while Margaery and Loras chattered on about the sights and fashion of Harrenhal. Quietly Brienne, who had been a most attentive listener to the whole, left the room to seek the comfort of cool air for her flushed cheeks, the blush of which she could feel spreading in patches across her neck and chest; and as she walked through her favorite meadow at the back of the house, her hands reaching to brush the tall heads of the wildflowers there, said, in a ragged whisper, “A few weeks more, and _ he _, perhaps, may be walking here.”

* * *

_ He _ was not Vice Admiral, now Lord Tywin Lannister, formerly of the king’s navy, and who bore the brunt of Olenna’s ire, but a captain Jaime Lannister, his son, who being his father’s heir, had come to Casterly Rock in the summer 1820 to stay with his cousins for some months. He was, at that time, a remarkably fine young man of twenty-five with a great deal of spirit and brilliancy in his person. 

His arrival had been heralded with suspicion. Even then, Olenna had maintained no love for her husband’s family, and as Margaery’s coming of age would take place in a few weeks’ time, his arrival seemed to indicate a wanton plotting on his father’s part to ingratiate the young man with the family before being allowed to formally court the young Miss Tyrell. Margaery had always been an extremely pretty girl with gentleness, taste, and feeling - if not modesty. Half the sum of attraction on either side might have been enough, for he had nothing to do and she had hardly anybody to love; but Margaery was at that age both keen to mind Olenna’s wishes and too vain for Jaime’s sensibilities. His interests had lain in the respectable pursuits of reading, riding, and swordplay; Margaery had not lifted her eyes to a book without being commanded to do so by a governess, had never cared to see her hair mussed by riding, and only found interest in watching others spar so that she might follow it with inane applause.

Jaime had spent much of the early summer in Loras’ company and, although Brienne shared interests with their guest, she too was suspicious of his presence there and would often reply to any statement of his monosyllabically, or simply go on as if naught had been said. She could not deny that his person was attractive, but it was his intentions which soured any attempt to recommend himself to her. 

At mid-summer, Casterly Rock held a ball to honor Margaery’s coming of age and debut in society - it marked Brienne’s as well, but as she was not of the Rock, she was shuffled into the background of the festivities while her beautiful cousin was showcased. At almost seventeen, Brienne already towered over most of the men present. Her height called attention to her other features as well - shoulders too broad for the blue muslin gown; lips too thick for her face; arms too toned for the thin sleeves of the dress; waist too solid, emphasized further by the ribbon there; and skin too freckled all over and too marked by the illness of her youth - it all painted her as unattractive, ugly, undeserving of men’s attentions. 

Most of those men present had been of an age where they should have outgrown the crueler tendencies of youth, but there were yet some who had never ventured out of the neighborhood or for whom the Essosi had no effect as yet and therefore, Brienne Tarth had been the most monstrous being their small imaginations could fathom. They would be made to swallow their cruelty before long however, for though Jaime had been sent with sights set on Margaery, and though Brienne had already spent much of the summer trying to steer clear of him, it was she that he sought to dance with that night. 

So mired in her embarrassment had she been that Jaime’s address -- simple and straightforward -- had startled her into agreement before she could form the thought to deny him. She had placed her left hand in his outstretched right and had felt his pulse seep into her as if their two hearts were setting off down a narrow unending path together. 

Even now, she recalled his aspect often. In summer, the Lannister wheat, in the fields around Casterly Rock, would grow in thick luscious waves that danced in the easterly wind. Summer wheat was nearly the color of Jaime’s eyes as she recalled them in her first true sight of them, his pupils darkening as he led her onto the floor, a vivid, living green. In autumn, that same wheat turned golden and burnished, much like his hair catching the candlelight that night, often hanging in fringes before his eyes. She could recall how it had fallen as they took their place and she’d had the sudden unbidden urge to brush it back, but his hand -- as it often did many times after that night -- had anticipated hers, and he frantically pulled the hair back as if, she thought, he could not stand for his view of her to be obstructed a moment longer. She had never felt more beautiful than in those moments. 

That night she finally gave in to the feelings that had been secretly building behind her rejections. And when he asked at the close if she would spar with him the following day, she could not have found it within her to say no. She had spent some weeks thereafter not denying him her company and, as the wheat began to yellow and the season came to an end, she believed with certainty that she would enter the next an engaged woman of seventeen.

But by then, Catelyn and Olenna had observed the two young people and would have Brienne refuse him. Brienne knew Olenna’s motives of causing harm and injury to the Lannisters, and it might yet have been possible to withstand that ill will, the composure of which might even have been corrected when she remembered that the connection would make Brienne a real relation to her. But Lady Stark, whom Brienne had always relied on and loved, could not, with such steadiness of opinion and such tenderness of manner, be advising her in vain, and that had given the girl pause.

Brienne was then persuaded to believe the attachment to be a wrong thing -- that Jaime Lannister must be acting for his father’s interests, driving a wedge in the family for that man’s benefit, and that he could not possibly truly love her, and would use her ill. There was misery in their final parting as she had refused him, despite his pleading and in spite of his claim that he was defying his father for her -- had Olenna and Catelyn not interfered, this would have surely made Brienne or any other woman reconsider their decision; but Brienne had been so wholly persuaded that his overtures were manipulation, that her position would not be altered. He quit the country in consequence and, following his father’s footsteps, joined the navy. There he had found his fame. 

A few months had seen the beginning and the end of their acquaintance; but Brienne’s suffering had no such short life, further antagonized by the near-constant flow of news from the fronts. Jaime had managed to do well enough, reaching the rank of captain. But it had not been without misfortune. In a well-reported maneuver he had managed to save the king’s life, but that same action had seen him injured. She had wept when she read that he had lost his right hand. For no matter what his intent had been, or how false his feelings toward her might have been, hers had been true and constant. 

Her attachment and regrets had, for a long time, clouded every enjoyment of youth; and an early loss of spirits had been their lasting effect. She could not blame Olenna and Catelyn for what she believed to be well-intentioned interference. But that belief would not repair her heart any more than it might fix the broken step by the kitchens or mend the moaning floorboards in the parlor. The harvest must have been light these last few years or those repairs would have come and made ready Tywin Lannister’s new home. But neither he nor Brienne would have satisfaction. 

Only the Stark children - Robb’s half-sisters and brother - now brought her joy similar to that of her youth. And it was more for them than herself that she now made her way with Catelyn to Winterfell. Her removal to Harrenhal was a subject of distress amongst them, and they would not easily brook her loss. 

While Sansa was at seventeen quite pretty and very like her mother, she had a kindness which the fairest Tyrell would never even attempt to emulate. At almost sixteen, Arya was much like her late father in looks, but her spirit was all Robb. She was fierce with a sword - Brienne made sure to train her herself - and with words, but she had a loving heart which lent itself well to her family, and Brienne, and to her newly betrothed - a foundry owner from the village whom Arya was expected to wed within two years. Their brother and Lord of Winterfell, Brandon, at ten years of age, had the fierceness of mind that bespoke Arya but the kindness of Sansa. He’d never been in full health and, at the age of five or six, he’d suffered a fall and injured his spine, losing the use of his legs. But his mind was sharp and Brienne enjoyed wiling away the hours with his eager mind, learning about various flora and fauna, or reading the day’s reports from the fronts. 

There was one more person to greet her at Winterfell whom she’d not seen in many years -- that was Catelyn’s nephew Jon, recently engaged, and spending some weeks traveling before joining his bride’s family. He was a quiet man with pleasing manners. He had seen much action -- too much for his taste. Catelyn would always indulge him in whatever he wished. If he had a favorite meal, she would set it in the menu; if he wanted -- as he sometimes had -- to invite acquaintances to dine at Winterfell, she would see to the extra place settings herself. He’d been present when Robb had lost his life and so, just as Catelyn kept Brienne close believing that she and Robb had loved each other, she kept Jon close -- a further memory to soften her loss. 

Had Robb lived to return and ask for her hand again, Brienne liked to believe that perhaps she would not have refused him the second time. She was already so close with his family, at the time, that the added intimacy would have been easily learnt, and while he still lived but away it had cheered her to think of how Catelyn might rejoice in their succeeding to her wishes. But in her heart, Brienne knew that her ability to love had begun and ended with one man - one whom she could expect to see no more, but who even now, or very soon, might be residing in the home she had loved, walking in her favorite meadow and crushing the honeysuckle and forget-me-nots beneath his boots.


	2. Chapter 2

The dance floor is illuminated with the flicker of candlelight. A cacophony of conversation and the crush of bodies overwhelm him. Stifling heat from the multitude of bodies at the mid-summer ball makes his head spin. A sudden, maddening desire to flee overcomes him just as the crowd parts, and he sees her towering above all others in her blue muslin gown. Her face is a mask of concentrated and schooled indifference but her chin wobbles slightly and her hands cling to her skirts. His heart thumps heavily in his chest like horses galloping across a muddy field. 

He feels drawn to her. The elegant curve of her back and the long ivory column of her neck are very pleasing to look upon, but it is her acute state of discomfort that beckons him. They were mocking her. He could tell from the way they were sniggering amongst themselves every time they glance in her direction. Ire like he had never known before prompts him to act, and propels him forward, directly toward her.

“Miss Tarth, may I have the pleasure of asking for your hand in the next dance?” He holds out his palm for her to take.

Her eyes are astonishing. Eyes as clear and blue as the ocean on a bright summer’s day gazing abruptly into his. The expression on her face is equal parts perplexed curiosity and misplaced suspicion. 

“Certainly, Captain Lannister, it would be an honor.” Tentatively, she places her long warm fingers into his palm and he feels a jolt of electricity course through his hand and up his arm.

The music swells and he pulls her slowly onto the dance floor. She appears hesitant but he secures a hand on the small of her back to direct her steps. For the first time since he had made her acquaintance, she yields to him, and melts into his touch.

They move together easily at first, but as the dance progresses he becomes very aware of the warmth radiating from the flat of her palm kissing his and from the curl of her fingers that graze his knuckles. Tendrils of molten heat spool from where her hand lies firm at his waist. Most of all, the smoldering intensity of her gaze flares a fire inside of him that rages and amplifies until it bubbles like a volcano in his belly, threatening to spew forth and consume him.

“Miss Tarth, have I ever told you how lovely you look in blue?” A blush spreads from the top of her head, down her cheeks, and into her chest, as his eyes follow it to where it crests in the folds of her plunging neckline. He observes as her small but pleasantly rounded bosom rises and falls with short and ever quickening exhalations.

The heat in his belly rolls and swoops as he finds himself pulling her closer, and closer still, until she is pressed hard against him. Pulling his gaze up, he allows it to travel to the juncture between her neck and collarbone, where he longs to taste her.

Instead, he leans in and whispers in her ear, “Are you warm, my lady?” The hair around her ears tickles his face and her earlobe brushes against his lips as she shakes her head. “Are you quite sure? You appear to be very flushed.” She gasps as he presses his lips into the shell of her ear. He can feel a shudder go through her and his body absorbs it. The heady smell of her skin is intoxicating and he can’t help but move his lips along her jawline, feather-light. Her grip on his shoulder and waist tightens as she clings to him in surrender. 

Slowly, he presses his lips to the corner of her mouth. She allows him entrance. Sliding his top lip into her mouth, he captures her bottom lip with his and massages it until she moans softly into his mouth. Her lips are plump, warm, and inviting. His tongue traces them before meeting hers in a warm slippery embrace. Coaxing her tongue with his, he feels her respond by embracing him tighter and slanting her mouth to deepen the kiss. A guttural groan forms deep in his chest and rumbles in his throat. Possessively, he tugs on her lips, before plunging his mouth into her neck.

“Jaime, oh Jaime,” she pants, sending heat shooting into his groin.

Tugging on the fabric of her dress, he seeks more access to her neck and shoulder. He wants her. Oh gods, how he wants her. And he was going to take her, here, in this room. He could have her and she wouldn’t stop him.

“Brienne, Brienne, please tell me to stop.”

“No. I need you. It’s been too long, Jaime. I need you. Please.”

His hand fumbles with the laces on her back.

_ I need two hands. Wait, I have two hands. How can that be? I’m dreaming. This is only a dream. Brienne! Oh, my beloved Brienne. _

Captain Lannister awoke, shuddering, and covered in sweat, with an agonizing ache between his legs, and an excruciatingly crushing pain in his chest.

* * *

It took him some time to compose himself. Truly, it must be the jarring shock of finding himself back in this place where he had once held her and dreamt of making her his wife. Fanciful dreams they had been, and though he no longer had aspirations to fulfill those dreams - nay, he violently opposed them - they continued to plague him. 

Captain Jaime Lannister, then merely Mr. Lannister, had poured out his heart and soul, had been willing to forgo every comfort that property, titles, and inheritance could purchase for him, but the lady had still rejected him soundly. The Lannister name had always come with misgivings but his father’s exploits during his time in the navy had sunk it into infamy. Miss Brienne Tarth had never struck him as a proud woman. She had in part been raised by his father’s brother which made her a Lannister already in practice if not by birth, and she had therefore perhaps been the woman most suited to happily tie her future to a family name such as his despite the misgivings of it; if she had loved him more, the way he had loved her, he was certain that she would have found it in her heart to accept him.

Lady Olenna and Lady Stark, he knew, bore him no ill will, but they despised his father; they were resentful of his scheming and swindling and their heavy influence on Miss Tarth could not have helped endear his family and, by extension, himself to her. The simple truth which he had forced himself to acknowledge was that she had been humoring him from the start, just as Margaery had done, though it must be said that the efforts of one was far more effective and deceitful than the other. Miss Tarth had grown to willingly oblige him in most things, and yes, even care for him as a friend; but she had never desired him, longed to touch him, found herself lost in thoughts of him every waking and dreaming moment, or imagined him forever at her side the way he had done with her. Her rejection had cut him to the core and the wound had never fully healed.

The navy had brought him some solace. Dedicating the last ten years of his life to protecting the innocent and fighting for a cause greater than himself was rewarding in ways the fortune he had acquired overseas could never procure. Losing his hand had been a small price to pay to redeem his good name and cleanse his soul of all cursed associations. Jaime found himself a free man, with a vast fortune, and a good deal of life ahead of him. He was no longer beholden to his father to choose a bride, but he found that he would like to do so just the same. One day he would inherit this estate and he desired to have a family to pass it onto. Any suitable girl between the ages of fifteen and twenty-five could catch his fancy. Miss Tarth may have wounded his pride and torn a hole in his heart, but he was still a virile and relatively young man, and in the eyes of society more marriageable than he had ever been. 

Any young woman would welcome his attentions and he was prepared to flatter himself a skilled suitor. The matter of his crippled arm was a small one, given the way he had acquired the injury. Most persons he encountered treated it as a badge of honor - that he had sacrificed life and limb to protect their king and countless others. While at times it was a great inconvenience for him not to have full use of two hands, his position as a landed gentleman, would not require it. It was with these certainties that he found himself looking forward to entering back into society. On his arrival, Lord Lannister had encouraged his son to reacquaint himself with the neighboring families and attend as many social gatherings as he deemed suitable in his efforts to acquire a wife. 

Word had arrived that Captain Jon Snow, a former subordinate of his and a man he had known well in his past life, would be calling that afternoon. Walking through a superbly untended but quaint meadow, Jaime was hopeful that his visit with Jon would be as pleasant as their interactions had been in the past. Snow was a kind and dedicated young man, and their conversations had always been most agreeable. Spending time alone with his father had proven itself to be a far more tedious and lonesome endeavor than he had anticipated, and he was somewhat anxious for company. 

Jaime’s tenure at sea had been difficult at times but it had also been full of camaraderie, and he had enjoyed the company and humors of his men in unoccupied daylight hours. The nights, unfortunately, were more difficult and solitary for many reasons, not least of which had been the treacherous lure of the night sky. Staring into that endless expanse of darkness, he discovered that every twinkling constellation reminded him of the multitudinous freckles on her face, which he could recall with ease, having memorized them to excruciating detail. Gazing into the dark waters had revealed that moonbeams skittering on every cresting wave appeared to be the exact color of her hair. The most intense reminder of her had come from the rising sun as its rays sunk into the watery depths before him, and shone incandescently blue, like her astonishingly breathtaking eyes. Oh, her eyes, her eyes as blue as those cornflowers and forget-me-nots dotted across this very meadow.

He stuck his hand in his pocket and fingered the page, torn from a favored book of poetry, which reminded him of her inconstancy. Jaime would never let himself forget, as much as his heart often threatened to betray him, that she was not worthy of his affections. To cement his sentiments further, he plucked a sprig of forget-me-nots from the field and pressed them inside that folded sheet which contained words truer than her heart had ever been.

It was in this turmoil of emotions that Captain Snow found him, standing in patch of forget-me-nots. Jon looked unchanged but for the deep furrow that occasionally appeared in his brow. The younger man had lost an uncle, a best friend, and a cousin to this brutal war and it had stolen the youth from his countenance. However, his demeanor remained kind and it was with this warmth of feeling that Jon embraced him. 

“Captain Lannister, it is so good to see you looking well! I have come to invite you to dinner at Winterfell. I have told my lady aunt of some of our adventures and she has expressed a wish for you to visit with us and call upon the rest of the family there. My cousins and some friends will be joining us and Miss Stark and Miss Arya Stark are I think most excited to meet the man who saved my life and protected their brother Robb until his dying breath. My aunt is also very eager to shower you with praise and fill your belly with every manner of delicacies she can find.”

Captain Lannister found himself rankling at the thought of dining with a woman who had conspired to turn Brienne Tarth against him, but there was also something very enticing about the idea of now being the object of her adulations. It was a mark of his accomplishments that he could be welcome - even desired - in the home of such a distinguished and honorable family as the Starks of Winterfell. Furthermore, the prospect of meeting eligible young ladies was quite encouraging.

“I would be delighted to join your family for dinner. Please allow me to make myself more presentable, and I will ride with you thence.”


	3. Chapter 3

It took him but a short while to change into proper attire, and then he found himself riding from Casterly Rock to Winterfell with Jon at his side. He had never been inside the Stark estate but it appeared to be almost as grand as Casterly Rock itself. Lady Catelyn greeted him very warmly and the shock of her good humor was still challenging for him to fully accept. Jaime willed himself to be his most charming self, and they both silently agreed to pretend that their previous acquaintance had not been fraught with disdain on her part, and with resentment on his.

Miss Sansa Stark was quite lovely to behold. She was tall, elegant, and had shockingly silky auburn hair pinned up in the latest fashion. Her eyes were a bright shade of blue, like her mother’s, but those were not the allurement to him that others might find, as he had already witnessed, and committed to his mind, the loveliest pair in existence. Her smile was sweet and she was eager to make conversation, if of a varied sort that did not really hold his interest. There was something infectious in her exuberance but it rattled his nerves a bit to sit with her too long. He had always preferred calm, deep waters to bubbling brooks. Yet, she was a fine girl from a fine family, and was as good a match as he could expect to make. Therefore he humored her, but was very relieved when her sister, Miss Arya, began to steer the conversation towards his exploits overseas. And despite her apparent wish to hear about his rescue mission and his maiming, Captain Lannister regaled them instead with tamer tales. 

“Perhaps another night, Miss Arya. I don’t want to give you nightmares this evening. Let me tell you about the pirates instead,” and he smiled at her good-naturedly.

Arya practically jumped out of her seat. “Pirates! I would love to hear everything you have to say on the subject! I only wish that my brother were here to listen to your tale as well. Please say that you will come back tomorrow and meet Bran to tell him yourself. Please, Captain Lannister, it would mean so much to him.”

“Oh certainly, it would be my pleasure. Where is young Bran? Why has he not joined us this fine evening?”

Lady Catelyn raised her glass. “Yes, I forgot to mention that our good, dear, friend Miss Tarth is attending to my son tonight. He is often ill and she was kind enough to sit with him and surrender her enjoyment for the evening. Let us toast to her good health and kind spirit. That she may always remain as affectionate and true as she has ever been! To Miss Brienne Tarth!”

Jaime raised his glass and gripped it hard to keep it steady in his hand, lest he drop it and spill its blood-red contents all over the table. “To Miss Brienne Tarth!” He could hear that his voice was wavering.

Catelyn raised an eyebrow and smiled, but not cruelly. “Oh yes, you do remember Miss Brienne Tarth, don’t you captain? I believe you made her acquaintance the last time you visited your cousins at Casterly. It has been some time, but surely you have not forgotten her.”

He tried to keep his tone light but his words were clipped despite his best efforts. “No, I have not forgotten.”

“She is staying with us for a spell before she rejoins the Tyrells at their new residence in Harrenhal. You will have a chance to renew your acquaintance with her tomorrow as well.”

Lady Catelyn could not know the surge of panic that soared through him in that instant, for he hid it with a smile so false and obliging that he did not recognize himself beneath it. Gathering all of his courage, he told himself that it did not matter to him either way if she were in attendance. The commitment to Jon and the Stark family had already been made and no ghost from his past would cause him to break his word. “I look forward to seeing you all tomorrow. Perhaps, after I meet with young Bran, Jon and I can go shooting, for I hear you have some fine hunting grounds here at Winterfell.” 

It was thus, that he had the gathering focus on Jon’s enthusiastic account of the many places where they could seek out good sport, while he collected himself. Jaime hid his shaking hand under the table and inhaled deeply through his nose.

_ She’s here. She’s here under this very roof, this very night. She could appear on those stairs like a phantom at any minute. I will see her tomorrow without question. After all these years, I will see her again. No matter, she means nothing to me now. Life will go on as it has. Her presence will only serve to remind me of how cruel the fickle heart of a woman can be, and how tis best to marry for convention, than under any false notions of love. _

He swallowed the lump in his throat away and barked a jovial laugh at a joke which he had not had the presence of mind to comprehend. The rest of the evening passed rather quickly then, and he discovered that it became easier to push aside his trepidations the longer he ignored them.

But the solitary ride home was less forgiving. And when he lay his head down to sleep that evening, all he could think about was a pair of the finest blue eyes, and the sound of her soothing voice.

_ I will see her again tomorrow. She will be there. _

* * *

A soft breeze blows, rustling his shirt as it whips his hair wildly into his eyes. He smooths it back, quickly, so he can focus on his objective. They stand in the meadow under a scorching sun. His grip is tight upon his sword and his heart beats wildly in exhilaration. This was his favorite dance and they danced it very well together. He knows her every move, parry, sidestep, and thrust, as well as she knew his.

The sound of their swords kissing always sends a thrill down his spine. He loves the feel of her strength as she brings her sword crashing down into his when he thrusts and lunges into her. Lunge, strike, advance, parry, lunge, and strike again, faster and faster, until they are both breathless and panting from exertion. Sweat drips down his forehead and trickles off of his nose.

Her face is flushed and her chest heaves turbulently, threatening to upend her breasts from their modest hiding place. Sweat drips quickly down her neck into the valley between them. The look in her eyes is wild and sets off the color most attractively. The magnetic pull of them distracts him and he has to correct his mistake rapidly to avoid being thrown off balance.

“You almost had me there, wench, but it will take more than that to best me.” 

She is stronger but he is faster. He uses this advantage to sweep her legs from underneath her and brings her crashing to the ground. Brienne pulls her sword up to her chest and he presses into it with his. Straddling her hips he pins her to the ground. Squirming underneath him, she lifts her hips several times in an attempt to throw him off. Being a maiden she could not possibly know what this delicious friction was doing to him, as he feels himself grow hard against her.

“Yield, wench. Stop struggling so and yield to me.” He leans in and breathes the words into her ear. The smell of her sweat, mingled with a scent that was distinctly Brienne, was driving him mad with desire. She pushes her hips up into him more furiously than before and he groans into her ear.

“Wench. You can not know what you are doing to me. Yield to me. Yield!”

He plunges his mouth into her neck and suckles on it until she moans with pleasure. He captures her mouth and seeks the taste of the moan on her lips and tongue. Brienne parts her legs and he nestles his groin deeper into her. She had worn breeches today and he can feel the wetness between her legs soaking into his. As she lifts her hips to unseat him once again, he thrusts into her harder, and she moans into his mouth again, and again.

The wind blows the cornflowers erratically about them and tickles the top of his head, causing him to lift his just enough to stare into her blazing blue eyes.

_ “Wench.” _

Then, his eyes snapped open, as his body shuddered, and sweat poured off of him. The morning sun shone through his window. He propped himself up onto his elbows to stare at his ruined bedsheets, still panting heavily.

_ I am going to see her today and this ache will be my constant companion. _


	4. Chapter 4

There was a picnic. 

The day had been overcast, but the clouds were now slowly rolling out, and the clear blue sky was just appearing in the distance. 

Robb and Loras are sparring with sticks down the hill. Margaery is walking along the tree line with Olenna and Kevan.

She’s standing in the center of her meadow with her face to the breeze, her hair and skirts billowing behind her, the tiny pink blossoms in the fabric dancing as the wind buffets against her. She looks down the hill into the wide field of wildflowers and tall grasses, the colors shifting and changing with each gale. She feels a warmth at her back, and strong arms circling her waist, locking her against him tightly as his lips press against the bare skin of her shoulder. She rests her arms on his, aligning his long fingers with hers. She looks left, then right, and she can no longer see nor hear the rest of the party. She can only hear Jaime’s breath against her ear as he mouths her neck. 

“Miss Tarth,” he whispers. 

“Brienne,” she returns, “I told you.”

His left hand comes up higher and he spreads his palm to cover her right breast, his fingers dragging the fabric against her sensitive skin, making her whimper and stretch to find his mouth with her own. 

He presses his lips to hers and then sinks to his knees, pulling her down with him into the tall grass. Then, Brienne is on her back and Jaime is pressing her into the damp soil. His lips are on her pulse, his hand in her hair, and the other hand is pulling at her skirts, dragging them up, the material scraping up the length of her legs, past her knees. The breeze is cool on her exposed skin. As his hand brushes her inner thigh, the clouds finally pass and her world explodes, as color fills in all the black and white spaces of her mind - the sky, the grass, the waving heads of the cornflowers that bend against the breeze high above her, and Jaime’s eyes boring into her. 

“_ Wench _.”

Brienne’s eyes snapped open with a gasp. Her bed clothes were damp with sweat, but her body felt loose as if every muscle had flexed at once and was now at rest. The dampness between her thighs was not unfamiliar, but strange given that she had not brought it on herself. She willed her heart rate to slow as the flush of her body faded and cooled. 

She knew the meadow, and she knew the man. But they’d never lain together - in it or otherwise - and he’d never touched her so intimately with his hands; though with his words he had penetrated her very soul. The sound of his voice rang in her ears, and the pronouncement of his favored nickname for her - one he had only used in the public privacy of their sparring - threatened to shake her to her core yet again.

It had been some time since she’d last dreamt of him. No doubt this was some bit of dust kicked up by the upheaval of her life and the threat of his impending proximity to that place that had been so dear to her. 

She peeled herself from the bed and cleaned up, remembering to speak to the maid later about a change of linens. Going to the closet, she paged through her day dresses, avoiding the one with the tiny pink blossoms that had danced in her mind’s wind. She chose instead the one with the light blue piping and the narrow neckline that covered her shoulders. 

* * *

Brienne had been at Winterfell for a week, and had spent much of her time either sparring with Arya or reading with Brandon. She kept herself occupied, distracted, trying to suppress the sense of longing for her home that threatened to overwhelm her. She had seen little of Sansa, and less of Jon who had gone visiting old friends in the neighboring villages and was often away at mealtime. He had come back the night before with a guest, but Brandon had been feeling unwell and so Brienne had remained with him rather than abandon him for a stranger. 

After dressing, she headed downstairs and stopped first in the breakfast room but found none of the family there. So she made her way to Brandon’s room and found him eating, with a separate place set for her on the small table between his bed and the wide window which lit the room with bright daylight. She’d barely set down on the chair at the boy’s side when the hallway sounded with running footfalls. 

Arya and Sansa arrived and, catching their breath, cried, “The captain is coming, Bran! Brienne, the captain!”

Bran’s eyes lit up and he reached over to the bedside table to pick up a paper toy Jon had fashioned him, “I’ll get to show him my boats!”

“The captain?” enquired Brienne unsuspecting, “another of Jon’s friends?”

“Oh, Brienne,” sighed Sansa in the doorway, “he had dinner with us last night, he’s wonderful! Mama said you - oh there you are, mama!”

And Brienne could not have been gladder in that moment that Bran’s bed was between her and the doorway, else she likely would have fled straight into the chest of the man she would have most wished to avoid. Directly behind Catelyn had been Jon with his mop of unruly black hair, and following immediately behind him was another. A tall man who ducked unnecessarily through the doorway out of habit. His hair was bright as ever before, though the years had kissed his temples in silver, and rendered him somehow ever more beautiful. And his eyes…

“Bran - here is Captain Lannister!” said Catelyn cheerily, ”Brienne, I think you remember Margaery and Loras’ cousin Jaime, don’t you?”

Her eyes half-met his and fell; she nodded in his direction and immediately looked away, not feeling mistress of herself. A thousand feelings rushed on Brienne, of which this was the most consoling, that this would soon be over. 

His eyes were the same - bright, undulled by time; but where she had always remembered warmth, there was a chill of indifference in his glance. In the periphery of her vision, she saw that he moved to Bran’s bedside. He was only a meter away from her now and she could smell the exertions of his morning - the horse, the sweat, the air of the early hour. She heard the bright murmur of his voice, the slight whistle of his sibilance unchanged. She began to reason with herself, and try to be feeling less. Ten years, almost ten years had passed since all had been given up. How absurd to be resuming the agitation which such an interval had banished into distance and indistinctness. What might not ten years do? A hot, roiling ball of oil settled at the bottom of her stomach, reminding her of their proximity in her reverie - his lips, his eyes. Alas, with all her reasonings, she found that, to retentive feelings, ten years may be little more than nothing. 

So dedicated to those feelings was she that she almost missed hearing Jon say his name. Jaime stood and she felt herself snap back into the present, staring forward, catching sight of the tacked sleeve of his jacket which covered the empty wrist. The hand once there, had touched her ruined cheek, where illness had marked her deepest, without hesitation; that hand had once held hers which nearly matched in size; that hand had once wielded a sword that kissed hers more passionately than any other; those fingers had once barely grazed her ankle when they paused in the lane and he knelt to address the loose ties of her boot. 

He and Jon quitted the room with Catelyn and Sansa in tow, and without another word to Brienne. Arya went to the window to watch them go down the path. “Brienne did you not like the captain? He’s promised to watch Jon and me spar - you could join--”

Brienne gasped for breath, her lungs filling painfully. “Arya, please sit with Bran, I need--”

Brienne ran from the room and headed for the rear door near the kitchen in order to avoid an encounter with the departing party. She bolted from the house and sped towards the wood at the back, until she was beyond the tree line. A violent sob rose up then, from her chest. She sank to the ground and watered the moss with salt tears, her head gripped in her hands. He must be either indifferent or unwilling. Had he wished to ever see her again, he need not have waited until this time. The evidence before her broke her heart over again. 

It was an hour before she felt equipped to face anyone and return to the house, and by then, Arya was anxious to catch up with her cousin and left Brienne alone once more with the boy and her aching heart.


	5. Chapter 5

Jaime could not be sure what he had expected to find upon entering the house again that morning, but any version of things his mind could conjure, any grotesque alteration to her person or the manor itself, could not have adequately prepared him for the unequaled sight of her standing there before him haloed in daylight. She looked much the same as she always had save that ten years had somehow made her more womanly, made her shape fuller in places where youth had not entirely agreed with her. The shock of her eyes, briefly meeting his, before quickly glancing away, had sent a bolt of feeling into his chest. Her eyes were so vibrantly blue. 

_ Why must she hide them from me? _

He had always been able to tell what she was truly thinking and feeling when he had looked into them before, but she appeared determined to shield herself, to deny him that intimacy with purpose.

Jaime had never been good at hiding what he really thought and felt. It was not in his nature to pretend to be something that he was not. Yet, in order to protect his carefully fortified heart, that is exactly what the situation would demand. Every long-suppressed emotion threatened to bubble to the surface. Every fiber in his being longed to reach out to her, to embrace or shake her, to force her to respond to him somehow, until her reaction met his satisfaction. But propriety stilled his hands and muzzled him. Self-preservation demanded that he occupy himself in some manner that was both agreeable to the occasion and less fraught with emotional turmoil. 

Turning from her, he went through the motions of speaking with young Brandon with calculated indifference toward a woman that once could have been his. He would not let his mind wander to where she stood, clutching at her skirts, both a meter and a lifetime away. He would not allow himself to observe that she appeared to be blushing as she focused on anyone but himself. He willed his breathing not to falter and scolded his heart into its normal rhythm. Focusing the whole of his attentions on Bran’s every word, like an anchor, even as images of her dancing in his arms and thrusting up against his sword assaulted him, till he knew not how his mind would assimilate. The montage in his mind always ended with a single image - that of her coldness, her eyes darkening to steel as she bid him leave her.

Relief and light flooded through him when Jon called his name and reminded him of their appointment with the hunting grounds. The final and most daunting challenge had come, when he had to take his leave of her, and resist the urge to study her face in order to record her expression for later examination.

_ It does not matter. She does not care for me. She is merely embarrassed about the way we parted on our last encounter. Brienne is nothing to me now. Her presence here changes nothing. _

* * *

Winterfell was situated on magnificent grounds. The house was surrounded by a cluster of woods with well-worn rambling paths. Down one of these and into a clearing with tall grass and a shining pond Jon led him. Here they could spot the many fowl in the immediate area with relative ease. Betwixt the two of them, they took down nearly a dozen geese in a series of rapidly alternating shots born out of friendly competition and expert marksmanship. 

The exercise helped to clear his head and steady his nerves. Jaime was always happiest when in motion. Idle repose often led to agonizing self-reflection, flights of fancy, and painful turmoil; it was that necessity of activity which had emboldened him to seek out masters who might facilitate the improved use of his solitary hand in avenues such as shooting and sparring. His mood had an habitual ebb and flow in the course of any given day, and having a place to channel those inconsistencies of feeling, frustrating though it was in the earliest days of his recovery, helped him to maintain the façade of an aloof man with occasional bursts of passion. The truth was that just under the surface a raging flow of emotions constantly threatened to overpower him, either for good or naught. Brienne had once been able to interpret his every sentiment. They had been so in sync then that they often wordlessly communicated their feelings with a simple shift in posture or a knowing look; that was part of what had made their growing relationship so intoxicating, for they were able to anticipate one another both on and off the sparring grounds. It was this deep understanding and acceptance of his true nature that had eventually become irresistible to him, and which had made this estrangement something altogether intolerable.

Not one to be cowed, he accepted his friend’s reprisal of an invitation to dine with them that evening. He had mastered sailing the high seas and commanding a ship full of men during the most deadly war that Westeros had ever seen. He had lost many things over the years - men, ships, steel, even the hand he had commanded with. It was as the king had said - there were no men like him, only him. He _ would _ learn to master his feelings just as he had learned to wield a sword with his left hand. She had rejected him once but he would rather be flayed alive than to allow her to witness the pain which she had inflicted. He would prove to Brienne Tarth, and to himself, that he could not be brought low if he did not wish it. The time for simpering, pleading, and mourning love’s loss had passed. Captain Lannister intended to live the rest of his life to the best of his abilities, for he had earned that right with his blood and his sweat. The act of enjoying a fine dinner in the company of a young woman that was eager for his attentions while being able - nay, encouraged - to flaunt his exceptional accomplishments before the one that had scorned him, was an excellent place to start. 

* * *

Dressed in his finest dark blue dinner coat, matching waistcoat, blue and green patterned cravat, and silk breeches, Captain Lannister entered the dining room with an air of confidence he did not entirely own. Miss Tarth, whom he had banished to the periphery of his vision as they gathered now was directed to the seat across from him. Objectively, he found that the dove gray gown accentuated the blue in her eyes and set off the tone of her skin, making it look like porcelain in the candlelight. Her countenance was somber, her expressions unreadable even to him; but if she had thought to bury herself before him in mourning clothes and stoicism, she had perhaps forgotten that she would have to make herself slighter, less powerfully-built, and her freckled bosom less enticing in order to accomplish it.  
  
She had also forgotten, or perhaps misremembered how, in being seated thus, one’s limbs might reach the other’s, and that grazing his leg with hers was in fact no way to draw his attention _ away _ from her. The feel of her foot nudging his, and her ankle moving momentarily up against his breeches as she settled into the space, sent a shiver of excitement up his leg and seated itself in his lower body in a way that made him squirm. Crimson embarrassment and downcast eyes gave away the depth of her disgust at having mistakenly touched him. He was careful to keep his legs tucked in tight under his chair the rest of the evening. 

Sansa was to his left and Jon was seated to his right, at the foot of the table. Catelyn was at the opposite head flanked by young Lord Brandon and Mr. Waters on each side, with Arya seated between her betrothed and Miss Tarth. They all settled in amicable silence until Jon opened up the evening’s conversation, detailing the finer points of their excursion earlier in the day, and Lady Catelyn effusively thanked them for providing one of the evening’s courses.

The first began with a thin but hearty vegetable soup, which had been easy enough for him to consume without a second thought, but when the goose and venison were set before him, he froze as he recognized the staff’s oversight, for while handling a sword or rifle was within his means, he had not yet uncovered a way to do something as simple as cut the meat on his dinner plate. Having glanced up from his dish in that instant, he saw that Miss Tarth had noticed the same and that she was poised as if to offer him her services, her eyes trained - he thought - on the contents of the plate; but then she startled when Sansa touched his forearm to offer her own assistance, and the knife across the table sounded against her plate. He might have taken that for a hopeful sign of affection had she not then immediately been so coolly indifferent towards him, from thence, and for the rest of the meal.

_ It was pity. She pities me. _

Fury surged inside of him. How, he wondered, did she own that right of pitying him? He was a war hero, a landed gentleman of good and increasing fortune and prospects, and she… she was nothing to him. The feelings she had hitherto stirred in him were merely born out of an unfulfilled desire of ten years ago that should have long before been squelched. The woman he had once loved most certainly had never really existed, else that woman must have withered and died some time ago. Perhaps he had simply dreamt her up, and she had disappeared upon his waking. The woman who sat before him now was solid and real, but she was distant, restrained, and an entirely uninteresting, unfeeling creature. 

The lady he thought he remembered would never seek to pity someone like him. The lady he thought he knew would never recoil at the thought of touching him. That lady would have been warm, kind, and attentive, just as Sansa was now attending. Everyone at the table, in fact, was eager to make conversation with him. They longed to hear him speak and none of _ them _thought him to be beneath their notice or worthy of their censure. 

_ Who is this cold and proud semblance of a gentle woman? Whomsoever this is before me, she can no longer tempt me. This lady does not have that power. _

* * *

As the meal wound down and Miss Tarth grew more comfortable in her indifference to him, he fingered the page in his pocket and recited the words in his head:

When we were two parted  
In silence and tears,  
Half broken-hearted,  
To sever for years.  
Pale grew thy cheek and cold,  
Colder thy kiss; 

_ Although that you did not give me, just imagined bliss. _

Truly that hour foretold  
Sorrow to this.

The dew of the morning  
Sunk chill on my brow---  
It felt like the warning  
Of what I feel now.  
Thy vows are all broken...

_ You were careful not to speak them, lest there be blame. _

And light is thy fame:  
I hear thy name spoken,  
And share in its shame.

They name thee before me,  
A knell to mine ear;  
A shudder comes o’er me---  
Why wert thou so dear?  
They know not I knew thee,  
Who knew thee too well:---  
  
_Or thought I did, ring the death knell..._

Long, long shall I rue thee,  
Too deeply to tell.

In secret we met---  
In silence I grieve,  
That thy heart could forget,  
Thy spirit deceive,  
If I should meet thee  
After long years,  
How should I greet thee?—  
With silence and tears. 

_ You will get silence but never my tears, Miss Tarth. Oh Brienne, I never knew thee. _

Captain Lannister leaned over and smiled indulgently at Sansa before joining Captain Snow in his long reverie about their time in the Narrow Sea.

“Yes, it is a terrible war,” he reiterated, “I hate to think of all the men we’ve lost, who will never be able to come home to a lovely family and a fine meal, such as this. We are truly fortuitous, Jon. There is nothing so compelling as the promise of a long future in the loving embrace of those you hold dear.”

Catelyn spoke up with a teary smile, her thoughts of Robb pushed down by thoughts of future felicity, “Are you looking to settle then, Captain Lannister? Are you ready to put the pain behind you and begin again, perhaps start a family?”

“Indeed, I am, Lady Stark. Any fine young woman may catch my eye. All I need are a few attentive glances,” this to Catelyn, teasingly, “a nod to the navy,” this to Arya who grinned ecstatically, “and above all, a determined unbending strength of will, to turn my head,” this, finally, to Jon who smirked and slapped the table with relish. “I cannot...” continued Jaime, “I can _ not _ abide anyone who would be easily led to ignore the desires of their heart, or who can be easily swayed first one way and then the other, on any serious subject. I have been too long at sea to wish to seek that kind of turbulence at home. I seek constancy, Lady Stark. Familiarity. Nor could I abide acquainting myself with anyone who lacked true depth of feeling or an unquestioning resoluteness of character,” this to Sansa who beamed up at him. “The thing I value the most is loyalty to oneself, before all others. Not selfishness mind you, but a care for, and truth in, one’s thoughts and actions. For if you do not know yourself, what can you possibly be to anyone else?”

Sansa grabbed his arm affectionately and agreed with rapt enthusiasm. “Yes, I would never allow anyone to dissuade me from doing something I really wanted to do, from following my heart wherever it would lead me, for how could my heart ever betray me?” 

Jaime smiled back at her brightly. “Just so, Miss Stark. Just so.”

Arya pressed her lips together in a tight smile. “Captain, won’t you tell us again about the pirates now?”

Bran clapped his hands. “Yes, please, captain. I never did get to hear about the pirates!” 

It was thus, that Captain Lannister regaled the group with his knowledge of pirates and shocked them all with the animated retelling of his encounters. His heart felt lighter than it had ever been before, and when he glanced at Miss Tarth, it was only to ascertain that undeniably, she remained unaffected by his earlier speech, and was decidedly _not_ _even slightly_ entertained by his gregariously extemporized tale. 

_ It matters not. I shan’t think of her again. _

This vow he made to himself and he intended, with every fiber of his being, to keep it. 


	6. Chapter 6

The women retired to the drawing room with Bran pushed in his chair ahead of them, leaving the men to their brandy. The room was cozy on these early autumn evenings when the days could be either dreadfully warm, or cool with the threat of rain, and the evenings held a distinct chill no matter the state of the day. The hearth was already lit and warming the room, but as she sat on the sofa, facing away from the door, and staring into the clear dark night behind the window casements, the air around Brienne felt as if she were sealed in ice.

Indeed she had spent most of the meal frozen in place, her legs tucked under her from the moment she felt another’s limbs invading the space hers wished to occupy. With the amiable but more diminutive Jon to her left and Jaime directly across from her, she was certain from whence the intrusion had come. And now her back and knees ached to be limbered, not trapped demurely in this position while her slippers slid on the thick rugs that lined the floors which, in summer, were kept bare and cool. Brienne had years ago sat many an hour by that hearth when Arya and Sansa were both young and read to them, their company helping ease the pain she felt first at Jaime’s false affection, and then at the losses that riddled their lives. 

Lady Stark helped settle Bran by the fire, a blanket tucked about his feet, and then sat beside Brienne and took up the book she had left behind the evening before. She held it out to her eldest daughter and encouraged her to read to them while they waited. Sansa would indeed look quite pretty perched on a cushion with fire in her auburn hair, and her melodious voice attempting poetically full vowels and delicate consonants - an attractive welcome to Captain Lannister, and their other friends.

Sansa, however, saw no interest in it. She was not so resistant as Margaery Tyrell to the enjoyment of reading, but the young Miss Stark was eager to dance and move about, just as she had been eager to assist Captain Lannister with his repast. It was only a moment after the second course was deposited before them that Brienne realized their host’s error, and had looked straightaway at Jaime’s plate. He of course had seen the challenge immediately, and his hand fidgeted over the only utensil he would be able to manage. Her body had defied her resistance at the sight of his helplessness and as her heart jumped to her throat, her hand twitched and dropped her knife back to her plate with a small clang, the urge to assist him coursing through her limbs. Her eyes nearly met his when Sansa had drawn his attention with her small porcelain hand on his sleeve and a kind offer to assist him in the portioning of the meat for the ease of his consumption. Brienne could not meet his glance then for whatever smile might cross his face at the girl’s accommodation. Instead she looked down the table at Catelyn whose pleasure at Sansa’s response was evident, but Brienne could not help but think there something else more prescient in her glance - something Brienne had seen before and, she thought, understood well. 

She knew then that Catelyn had indeed set sights on Captain Lannister for her daughter. She wished that she could feel offense at this, that she could feel outraged at the Lady’s hypocrisy, but of course she could not. Naturally she understood Catelyn’s altered feelings - Jaime was now established, outside the control of his father, and no longer a dilettante but a hero of the war who’d had a personal effect on her family therein. Most importantly, he had shown himself to be honorable in some respects at least. He was as suitable a partner for Sansa as there might ever be in their circle, and there would be no competing against a bright-eyed cheerful girl of almost-seventeen, even if her own attentions would have been welcome which, after this dinner, she knew were even less welcome than he had pretended in their joint past.

For the rest of the meal, Brienne had closed herself off to the onslaught of her frustration and agony and made herself to feel at peace. She had smiled when one man praised the other’s prowess, or Sansa applauded their actions on the front; she had frowned at Jon’s descriptions of the horrors meant to shock the young ladies; she had laughed when Bran begged Captain Lannister retell a story that had already been told. And all this, she thought, she did with all the grace that a desire for self-preservation might allow. She let that same grace carry her from thence to the drawing room, and there the ground seemed to pitch upward as the exhaustion of her false feeling caught up to her.

_ He hates me_. 

She knew from his speeches that he did, though she could not understand why. His indifference had been unpleasant but understandable. But hatred was irrational and unexpected. Their attachment had been significant only to her as the recipient of his pretense, and she had felt its loss most acutely. Even after all these years, it pained her that he had never actually loved her. But she had denied _ him _ nothing that he had truly wanted. She’d had no part in his subsequent success or misfortunes, those were all driven by his own desire for notoriety and convenience which had been transparent to her from the start of their acquaintance, but which she had suppressed the awareness of in the mistaken belief that he had grown to feel for her. 

He had fooled her then, and when she had banished him from her heart and her presence, he had looked on her most cruelly, nearly as cruel as she felt in the absence of his looks now. What did he mean by declaring himself unable to account for someone who lacked “true depth of feeling” and “unquestioning resoluteness of character”? Was it of she that he spoke, of the change due to her awareness of his true character of that summer, or was it of some other person for whom he’d had truer feelings? If this other, why mention it? If her, why account for it at all - his resolute indifference toward her now had been enough to dispatch any feelings of love that she might still hope to harbor beyond this night without it devolving into hatred. She could not establish the root of his emotion. She did not understand it, yet she comprehended it enough to own it. In these mistrusted feelings she wallowed until the young Miss Stark’s voice broke through her hateful reverie.

Arya and Sansa were now both moving and jumping about the room, dodging their mother’s call for focus and propriety. “When will they be finished?” cried Sansa, “I wish to be jolly and dance!” 

“I wish it were proper to practice swordplay after supper,” Arya muttered with feeling. 

“Arya, you’d make yourself ill!” cried Catelyn.

Brienne laughed as good-naturedly as she could manage through her confusion and promised Arya a session first thing the following morning. A pleasant laugh came tumbling out of the door behind her and she turned to see Jon and the others entering the room. Captain Snow entreated Arya to wait for him in the morning so that he too might join them. Brienne would swear the ghost of a smile crossed Captain Lannister’s face then, though be it cruel or otherwise remarkable she could not say, but all that she’d suppressed that evening hit her full in the belly just as Sansa spoke her name and begged her to play for them to dance.

“We want to dance!” appealed Sansa again, skipping toward the Captain. 

Brienne was already nodding automatically and crossing to the instrument. “Yes, of course,” she responded with as much feeling as she could muster. Lady Catelyn, seeing that Brienne was lethargic and perhaps in no mood to humor her adamant daughter, stayed Sansa’s giddiness and suggested that perhaps their friend was not prepared to perform for them, and offered to play herself. But Brienne waved her away. “It’s alright,” she said sitting down and shuffling the pages before her until she found the piece she wanted, “I’ve got a few dances in me yet, I think.”

Arya stood up in the center of the room and told Mr. Waters that he was expected to dance with her to which he earnestly, and with a hint of concern, returned, “Will you step on my toes?” causing a riot of laughter from Jon and Jaime’s corner. As she set her hands to the keys, she smiled softly to herself. 

_ Let him be happy _ , she thought. _ Let him be happy and then let him not blame me for any future unhappiness, for I am not to blame for his foolishness. _

Brienne began to play through her misery, and the young people gathered together and danced while Jon turned the pages for her. She kept her eyes on the notes, willing herself to ignore the way that Sansa hesitated slightly at the touch of Jaime’s empty wrist to her side, and the way his remaining hand gripped hers. She played on, and Lady Catelyn sat nearby rejoicing in the happiness of her children. “Ah Brienne,” said Catelyn, “If it had pleased heaven to spare my poor son, I dare say you two would be dancing along with them even now.” Brienne listened kindly and tried not to weep. 

* * *

That night Brienne fell asleep trying to push away her recollections, and to not think of the night that Jaime Lannister had asked her to dance in front of the whole village. So it was only natural that the memory of her world and her assessments of it being turned upside down would drift to the forefront of her subconscious, her mind wandering, drawn in by the heat and the haze of a candlelit ballroom. 

There are no snickers from the other men; there are no women gossiping. There is only her and Jaime. He has banished everyone else from her mind. But he is changed. He no longer wears his trousers and smart green tailcoat as he had that summer. Instead he is dressed in his naval uniform, his hat in the crux of his arm. His buttons shine in the flickering light as do his eyes which are trained only on her. 

But this Jaime - the Jaime of now - he does not wear that flattened expression of indifference to which she’d been so subjected, nor the cruel demeanor that she can recall from their last parting. Not cruel… his aspect had not been cruel. She could picture it now. He’d been wounded by her. That expression had been... _ hurt _. 

But the look on his face now is the same as it was that first night that she had begun to love him - the same expression he’d worn when e’re he looked on her thereafter either in fighting or laughing or simply existing; the same expression he’d worn that day when he’d come to propose to her, before the hurt had crept in as a result of her cruelty. His brilliant eyes regard her now as they had before, and she wonders fretfully how she could ever have been so persuaded. This is no fantasy, no false creation of her mind. This is his true look. This is everything that he ever had been to her.

_ He _ had _ loved her...once. _

“If you do not know yourself,” his apparition spoke, “what can you possibly _ be _ to anyone else?”

Brienne woke, awash in an agony that only self-inflicted torture could cause. 

His words stuck in her heart, their knife’s edge pressing into her lungs, and she sobbed heavy hot tears fleeing her eyes down the slopes of her cheeks.

_ He loved me. _

How could she have been so misled, so foolish, so cruel? He had loved her as truly as she had loved him. And now… 

_ I am come to this realization too late. He hates me and will love another. _

_ I cannot rectify this. _

For all her realizations after ten years fraught with misunderstanding and grief, he would attach himself to someone else. And not just anyone on whom Brienne might cast aspersions, but on someone whom she doted almost as a sister. It would be easier if she hated the girl. But she could not. She could only hate herself. She felt her love of him grow even more despite herself, and the misery of its being unrequited by her own folly was as acute as ever. 

It was not yet dawn, but Brienne rose and, feeling the chill of the air against the glass of the window, she donned trousers under her dress and made her way outside where she could practice her stances and let the tears freeze and be carried off in the mist before the others joined her.


	7. Chapter 7

Upon recollection, Jaime felt that the evening’s entertainment had been altogether satisfactory. The company had been enjoyable, and being able to dance again after so many years made him feel youthful, more exuberant. Miss Sansa Stark was an amiable girl and he looked forward to being again in her company. Miss Tarth remained, regretfully, an unpleasant and undesired distraction, for his eyes continued to search her out unbidden. Even as he danced jovially with Miss Stark, he was ever-aware of Miss Tarth’s presence at her instrument. The way her long fingers moved with grace and skill over the black and white keys and her slippered foot tapped against the pedals, and the way her smile became tighter and smaller as the evening wore on, were things he could not stop himself from observing despite his best efforts to banish her from his thoughts.

As the next few days passed and he dedicated himself to overseeing Casterly Rock at a brief removal from Winterfell, he found that his ire towards her would not hold its intensity. Her manner had been too acquiescing to those in her company, her person too quietly agreeable for him to be able to scorn her ardently or for as long as he intended. The fact that she did not love him, and never had, was still a source of profound pain; the fact that she had rejected him despite his willingness to give up everything still rankled. But, with some small maturity, he recognized that he had no right to expect anyone to love him simply because he had been in earnest. He told himself that it was entirely possible that she had not been interested in marrying anyone, let alone him, that love was not something she was ever invested in; perhaps his suit had disrupted her intent. If she _ had _married him, they likely would have struggled without the security of his father’s fortune. Furthermore, the life of a sailor’s wife was lonely and often harsh. As it stood, she lived in comfort and appeared to enjoy her role as a family companion. Undoubtedly, she had chosen to steer the smoothest course for herself.

Nay, he did not hate her. He found he simply no longer cared for her. She was not now the woman he thought to find where he had set her behind him nearly ten years ago, and he had expected of her things she could never feel. He argued that he would have been arduously unhappy with someone so homely and devoid of deep feelings as she was, someone so complacent as to settle for a simple life devoid of passion, someone unwilling to take risks and so hesitant to confront the societal conventions set before her. He would have been miserable in forfeiting all for such a woman. 

Miss Stark on the contrary would be an entertaining companion, if a little overly-effusive and lacking in introspection. Likely she would mature with age, and whatever depth of character and understanding she did not obtain over time he could find in the conversation of others in their circle. He rather enjoyed the idea of being intimately acquainted with the Stark family. They regarded him warmly now where his own father and sister treated him with transactional coolness; being the object of this warmth for the rest of his natural life was something he could look forward to, irrespective of Miss Tarth’s presence. Some three days after their amiable dinner, and after his concluding that she was perhaps not worth his disdain, he dressed and readied himself to make an early morning call.

* * *

The sky was bright and relatively cloudless but a crisp, pleasant breeze tempered the sun’s rays. The invigorating ride to the Stark estate in this agreeable weather, and the prospect of spending time with such an entertaining collective, drew a smile of anticipation to his face. It grew ever wider when he learned that Miss Arya was in the rear meadow sparring and that Miss Stark would be nearby there in the glass gardens. But as he rounded the back of the house, the smile froze and his step faltered when something his mind had not expected to encounter, and which he should have anticipated, was revealed before him.

_ Oh gods. _

A pair of long legs, clad in pale woolen breeches and tall leather riding boots, and which could only belong to one person of that exact and familiar shape and size startled him into stillness. 

She was wearing a light men’s shirt that had been cuffed at the elbows and tucked in at the waist. Despite the earlier chill, it was sticking to her back and chest wherever her skin met fabric, and sunlight shone through in some of the damp places to reveal the cut and texture of her chemise beneath. The long straw-blonde hair she had worn in a neatly-pinned chignon at last sight was now in a long braid down her back that had become frayed and wild from the exercise. Sweat glistened on her brow and dripped down her temples onto her long neck.

When Arya spotted him standing and gaping at them, which he suspected he may have done for many minutes before roused, she waved him over. Brienne turned then in his direction to observe the newcomer and he could finally see how flushed her face had become in her exertions and the way her eyes appeared to flash with excitement. His heart thumped heavily in his breast when he saw that blush deepen and creep down to her chest, and that a corner of her mouth had appeared to turn up in private amusement at the sight of him, even as she turned away again.

_ She has not forgotten, then, how much we enjoyed sparring together - whatever the depth of that feeling. She may not have loved me but I know she enjoyed that as much as I did. _

As he approached, he found his body responding in other ways, also familiar. His breeches felt tighter and his hand itched to grab a blade. The urge to stroke and strike was beating savagely from the same life source, desire. Jaime’s throat felt dry and he had to remind himself to lift his feet in order to bridge the span between them.

“Captain Lannister!” cried Arya, “Would you be so good as to observe this next bout? Brienne is very good but I am still learning and would very much like to hear what you think about my form. Do you mind?” The younger girl in her own shirt and breeches, though far smaller and decidedly less to his personal interest, was bouncing on the balls of her feet in excitement.

From the corner of his eye he ascertained that Brienne was looking down at her sword, and flexing her hand to rework her grip. He felt himself twitch in response and, a little more breathlessly than he would have liked, said, “It would be my pleasure.”

Indeed, pleasure was the word he would have to use to describe the feelings that roared inside of him as he watched Brienne wield her sword with incredible strength and proficiency. Every stroke was well calculated and every thrust was purposeful. She still grunted on her parries with a sound that was altogether unsettling in how deeply it rumbled in her chest and from thence into him. Her feet moved with speed and accuracy. He clenched his fist tight and willed his legs to be still in order to stop them from shadowing and anticipating her movements as they once had done so well. He yearned to join her in this dance.

Brienne struck a decisive blow and Miss Arya’s blade fell to the ground with a clatter.

“What do you think, captain?” the girl enquired with an upturned brow and wry smile.

_ I think she’s magnificent. _

“Captain?” Arya’s smile faded as she must have begun to feel concerned about the obviously constrained look on his face. It was apparent, that the effort to appear unaffected while his body and mind raged with conflicting thoughts and desires had struck him dumb for he could not form words to save his life, much to the girl’s disappointed confusion and, he thought, Brienne’s irritation.

Thankfully, Miss Stark at that very moment appeared from behind the glass gardens and approached him excitedly, taking a hold of his arm. 

“I was just in the gardens with Jon and did not notice your arrival. Jon is hoping to visit Mr. Waters at the foundry this afternoon - will you join us? Perhaps we might all go.” This she said with a purposeful glance at her sister.

Arya seemed to be considering it, and then he saw Brienne urge the girl inside the house to change without a single glance in their direction. Arya followed her and then turned back to let Sansa know they would join them shortly. Miss Stark offered him refreshment for their wait which he accepted in the hopes of calming the turbulence of his blood. 

* * *

The walk from Winterfell to the village of Wintertown was considerably longer than Jaime had foreseen, having never ridden it before, and Miss Stark was ever at his side, eager to fill each step with idle chatter. It was neither unwelcome nor wholly unpleasant however her preferred topics of conversation left him with little to say, beginning with the latest ladies’ fashions (of which he knew nothing) and ending with her tastes in musical composers (to which he, kindly, said nothing). At some points he lost the thread of her conversation entirely while observing the rest of their companions at quite a distance ahead of them.

Jon appeared to be urging the younger Miss Stark to attend him quicker, and Brienne lagged a few paces behind them; unusual, he thought, considering she had much longer legs and a healthy constitution for exercise. If his memory served him correctly, Brienne was very fond of walking, even longer distances, so to observe her almost reluctantly ambling unsettled him.

She had exchanged her light shirt and breeches of the morning for a dress the color of a muddy riverbed, flattering neither to her shape nor her complexion. Jaime considered this to be a blessing on him since he had learned that he could no longer trust the way his body responded to her when she was wearing anything he considered favorable. He shook his head slightly as the memory of her in breeches threatened to lead him down a dangerous path once again.

_ Why is she walking so oddly? _

Her gait seemed to him an odd combination of short faltering steps followed by bursts of long purposeful strides, as if she was afraid to fall too far behind their other companions, but just couldn’t quite keep pace with them. There seemed to be a small drag to her right leg, which he suddenly recognized; she had used to acquire the same after a few long days of their sparring together. She tended to lean heavily on her right foot when advancing in those days; he had once warned her that she must correct the practice or it would take a toll on her overall posture. There was no doubt in his mind that this was the effect of that same tendency. 

He saw her try to speed up again as, even from this distance, he could see Jon enthusiastically gesturing towards the village while Arya shook her head in response. The pantomime continued as Brienne caught up with them, and Arya turned towards her as if entreating her to take her side of whatever argument had befallen the cousins. But Brienne, with shoulders slightly slumped, waved them on without her. When Arya extended her hand out for Brienne to take, as if some concession might be reached, Brienne turned from her and seated herself on a low wall near the hedgerow and waved her on with a firm shake of her head. 

_ She’s tired. _

Arya reluctantly looped her arm through Jon’s and walked down the hill towards the village. Having finally paused in her discourse long enough to notice that Brienne had stopped ahead, Miss Stark came to a halt and began commenting on the variety of foliage around them, wondering out loud how soon the leaves might begin to change, clearly intent on not joining Jon and Arya in their venture.

“Miss Stark, should we not go down to the village and see the foundry with them?”

“Oh heavens no, Arya has Jon to escort her and will not wish to speak with Mr. Waters in our presence. She is very particular about revealing her true feelings in front of others. She would very much like for everyone to assume she does not possess them.” Sansa twirled a leaf in her hand, absently.

“What, feelings?” He smiled to himself at the notion of the young Miss Arya bristling against people assuming she felt things as deeply as others do.

“Precisely!” Sansa smiled and blew the leaf in his direction.

The captain caught it and crushed the dried subject of her fidgeting in his hand. “If you do not mind me enquiring, what is the level of intimacy between Miss Arya and Mr. Waters?”

“Oh, they are engaged as of this summer. Not that Arya made it too easy on poor Gendry, for the manner of her acceptance was less than entirely encouraging, but he appears to understand her. She does care for him a great deal but she might never tell him outright. I think he actually likes that about her, which I find unusual. Thankfully, his foundry does well enough to provide a good living. Arya need not worry too much on that account anyway, since poor Robb died, and since Bran will likely never marry; she can depend on the security of Winterfell for a long time, I would imagine.”

Jaime leapt at the opportunity to talk about Robb, having a vested personal interest in the young man, and feeling decidedly uncomfortable with the level of ease and comfort Sansa demonstrated in discussing intimate family affairs with him. He did not want her to believe that he was overly-familiar, or too eager to have her divulge her familial confidences. “Yes, Robb was taken from us all too quickly. Your brother made an excellent sailor, Miss Stark, and all who knew him thought him to be a fine young man. I woefully regret not being able to protect him as much as I ought. Try as I did, the war was just too vicious and claimed too many lives.” 

“Oh, Robb. We shall never fully recover from his loss - mama especially; she doted on him so, and she has carried on valiantly but I know that the world does not hold the same amount of joy for her now as it did with him in it. Brienne, too, was devastated when Robb died. She cried for weeks, whenever she was here to comfort us, and when they brought his remains home, she visited his grave site daily with mama for many months.” Tears shimmered in Miss Stark’s blue eyes.

Jaime’s heart clenched and a lump formed in his throat. “Oh, Miss Tarth... must have loved him a great deal.”

“Indeed, she did. So imagine everyone’s shock when she denied his proposal.” Jaime startled a little at this revelation, but Miss Stark continued, “I was young when it happened, but I knew she would. Not that it would have been an ill-suited match, they got along quite well together, but it held no passion, no matter how much mama encouraged the attachment.”

He could not help himself from inquiring further, though he knew he had no right, as curiosity and a deep ache in his chest had loosened his tongue. “Do you mean that she refused him?.”

“Oh, yes. Robb was more like a brother to Brienne, though I wish that she had accepted him for I should have liked to call her my sister.”

Jaime felt his heart lurch. Could she have rejected him in favor of a passing fancy for Robb Stark? “When did that happen?”

Sansa leaned in conspiratorially, “I do not exactly know. He did write to me at one time to say that once the war was over he meant to propose to her again. I don’t think he ever truly desired her, but being a dutiful son, he did what was expected of him. And mama would have wanted Brienne as a daughter just as much as I would want her for a sister. But she would have denied him again, I am sure of it. Brienne detests pity and I think Lady Olenna impressed on her that to marry for anything but love would be to accept pity or enter into a convenience. Brienne has spent much of her life being laughed at for her appearance; a woman like her wants more than anything to feel desired. She does not _ need _to marry as she will always be welcome to live with the Tyrells, and with us, and thus, be well looked after. I think nothing short of sincere proclamations of love would have stirred her into forming an engagement with anyone.” Sansa’s tone was so indisputable, so resolute, that he found himself hearing the truth in it.

_ Why, then, did she reject me? Was this Lady Olenna’s influence? I desired Brienne with all of my being. In what other way could I have proven to her how much I loved and wanted to marry her? _

There was no conceivable way that she could have misunderstood his affections toward her. The only answer must be that she was merely unmoved by them, that even when desired, she would not marry if she did not desire the suitor in return.

“Yes, I recall her being rather passionate in her opinions when she was perhaps your age, but she is much changed now, is she not? I hardly recognized her.” Jaime heard the sadness in his voice and attempted to correct it at the last, lest Miss Stark think him too nostalgic.

“I had forgotten that you were acquainted once. _ Is _ she changed? I was quite young when you would have known her. Perhaps she is different in some ways. I will not concede that she is any less passionate in her beliefs, but it may be that the focus of her passions has changed. She is truly the kindest of souls and dedicates herself at every turn to serving those she loves. Brienne often gives up her own comforts to ease those around her. She has been Bran and Arya’s near-constant companion all their lives. Just yesterday evening Bran was not feeling well, and she offered to sit with him into the night so that mama could rest. She fusses over me and mama constantly, anticipating our needs. I do not know what we will do with ourselves when she goes to Harrenhal. I am certain the Tyrells depend on her as much as we have and will be starved for her presence soon. They won’t let us keep her much longer. I know that she is not fond of Harrenhal, but she will go in order to oblige Lady Olenna and her grandchildren, much as she always has. Anyone would be happy to have someone so affectionate in their home. She is so dear and kind and selfless.” 

Miss Stark’s eyes were filled with such admiration that he felt it stirring something old buried deep inside of him, begging admittance to the air.

Jaime could not help but wonder how far Brienne had gone to, as Miss Stark had said, oblige Lady Olenna. _ Yes, she is selfless and kind, and loyal. She is _ too _ selfless, giving her entire life to these people who will use her in any way she allows. _

_ Brienne, who will take care of _ you _ ? Who will anticipate _ your _ needs? Who will make sure _ you _ are well loved and warm and cherished? I would have loved and cherished you as you deserved. I could _ never _ have taken your kindness for granted or allowed your devotion to go unrequited as it does now. I would have made sure no harm ever came to you, and protected your heart as if it were my own. _

Clouds had begun to roll in, the sky mirroring his mood and the wind picking up in violent gusts. Miss Stark shivered slightly beside him and he reached to help adjust her shawl. In the distance, he saw Jon and Arya making their way back up the hill towards Brienne. 

“We should head back for I fear that it might rain,” he said, offering his arm to her.

Miss Stark nodded in agreement. They made their way back toward the main footpath where they met the others. With a determined tug on her skirt, Jaime watched Brienne shove off of the wall and amble ahead, even more slowly than before, yet she made no word of complaint.

_ She’s so tired. And so stubborn. She is still so stubborn. The foolishly selfless woman will not say anything about her own discomfort even though she is evidently about to drop from exhaustion. _

What, he wondered, would he not do to see her rest?


	8. Chapter 8

It had been three days since her realization. Three days in which she raged and deliberated until she felt again calm and persuaded of her rationality. He had loved her, she could recognize that now. And if he had shown any signs of loving her still there might be no complication, for she was as ready to love him now as she had been before she’d been convinced to think him false. But that reality was in the past, and had been rendered impossible by her folly. Had she trusted herself enough then to believe him as honorable and as in earnest and as true as she had perceived - all the things that he now had proved himself to be beyond a doubt - they could have forged ahead. They would have been happy. She believed that now. No matter the circumstances - even if his father had disowned him for not disavowing her, even if they had been poor or she’d spent the last ten years living a harsh and anxious life as wife to a sailor, they would have made each other happy. 

_ Oh, Jaime, how I have wronged you.  _

If only she had trusted him then, she would not have found herself here encouraging Sansa’s fancy for him. She was determined that the Stark girls not make the same mistakes she had. She would not stand between Sansa and her happiness, and she would not allow Arya to get in her own way. And she would not allow Jaime’s hatred for her to strain the friendships he’d been forging among the family. She would still find it difficult to hold him in her sight and she might ache whenever he looked toward her with disdain, but she would somehow show him and everyone that she did not dislike him as he must believe she did. She would be gone to Harrenhal soon enough; there would be no profit in creating an obstacle to happiness sought by so many. It was for these reasons that she battened down her longing and regrets and agreed to join the girls in walking Captains Lannister and Snow into the village of Wintertown. 

Her heart had nearly leapt at the sensation of his eyes on her that morning in her borrowed shirt and worn breeches, but she’d forced herself to keep her feet firmly on the ground, thankful that she’d been given some days to assess and control her emotions. Her hands had itched to draw her blade against his, to battle him until he felt again what he once had for her, and to savor the delicious proximity of him. But then she thought of his hand, and the knife of guilt plummeted through her heart once more. She had lain into Arya then, pushing the girl to the limits of her skill until she was made to yield, all the time wishing that the next move could make him whole again or could make him hers again, whole or no. And with this purpose flowing through her Brienne had felt more alive and present than she had in the sum of the preceding ten years. And when they were done and he’d said nothing, she felt the despair of their disparate understanding creep in again. She put on a brave face for the girls and turned away from him both so as not to see whatever disappointment in her be apparent in his looks, and as to avoid any admission of jealousy in her glances as Sansa approached him. Her bravery, it seems, had its limits.

And now, sitting at the bottom of the hill which overlooked Wintertown, she was sure that she had never felt so weary. She had pushed herself perhaps too far that morning and their walk and her subsequent argument with Arya had not lessened her exhaustion. 

The girl had been eager to go walking with the party, for she was enthralled by Captain Lannister’s stories. But she was still resistant to being complacent in the safety of her promise to Gendry. She had wished to stay and hear more of Jaime’s tales but Jon had insisted and Brienne had denied Arya any quarter. And so they’d gone and Brienne was left to chaperone Jaime and Sansa as she’d anticipated. But not being there in any official capacity as chaperone, for no one had entreated her to do so, it was only a general propriety that required it, so she did not turn back and follow when Sansa led him a short distance away. Brienne conceded to pretend not to notice so that they might converse privately, and on perching on a low wall, her limbs thanked her for it. She had been many days confined to the house prior to the sudden assault on her heart in his shape, and this had been followed by half a day of almost unabated exercise; so she was all too happy to be still for a short while. 

* * *

After a quarter of an hour, the pair circled closer to her spot and, though she was not observing them, she could hear the susurrus of leaves underfoot as they strolled through the grass, their words rising gently and entering her hearing without intent on either side. If she had not been so weak of both body and mind at that moment she might have moved off further to avoid eavesdropping on their assignation, but as it was she was frozen there and could not, or would not, move off. 

“...do you mean that she refused him?.”

Brienne would not flatter herself to think that he was speaking of her, perhaps they were discussing Arya and Mr. Waters...

“Oh, yes. Robb was more like a brother to Brienne, though I wish that she had accepted him for I should have liked to call her my sister.”

_ They are speaking of me,  _ she thought in a panic, her entire body coiling as if to make herself smaller, part of the wall.

“ _ When _ did that happen?”

Brienne wished she could fly in that moment. Flee the sound of the accusation in his voice. He must be thinking that she had rejected him in favor of Robb, but that was ridiculous, she had only loved  _ him _ . She strained to hear Sansa’s response, but she had turned against the wind and it was a few moments before anything else might be made out. 

“...I think Lady Olenna impressed on her that to marry for anything but love would be to accept pity or enter into a convenience…”

The sounds were retreating, and Brienne distinguished no more for a long time. Her own emotions still kept her fixed in that spot. She had much to recover from before she could think to move. When they made their next approach, the same subject was at hand. 

“...I hardly recognized her,” she heard him say with an edge of cold certainty.

The only reply she heard from Sansa once the wind had stopped buffeting against her ears was “She fusses over me and mama constantly,” and then they were away again, words carried away in the wind.

She had heard a great deal of very painful import. She saw how her own character might be considered by Captain Lannister - weak, easily persuaded, needy; and there had been just that degree of feeling and curiosity about her in his manner which might only give her extreme agitation. She could not fault Sansa for her opinions, for Brienne would own that she did sometimes care perhaps too much. 

When she next finally looked up from her miserable thoughts, Arya and Captain Snow were making their way back up the hill, smiles on both their faces. The wind had turned chilly, and she could see that Jaime was now assisting Sansa with her shawl further up the hill. Everything now marked out Sansa for Captain Lannister; nothing could be plainer.

Brienne was already tired and limping somewhat and now she was weary of heart too. She could barely see before her through her bleary eyes. She thought it likely a mere matter of time before she tripped and made a fool of herself. Once the party was all met, they proceeded along the footpath to where it would cross the lane. She could feel his eyes on her but the shame of what had been spoken made Brienne sink within herself again. She did what she could to keep the haze in her eyes from turning to tears. 

But then the wheels of a familiar carriage sounded down the lane and Lady Catelyn was hallooing them from the seat of her dogcart where she drove with Bran bundled behind. 

“We thought to take the air!” said she, reigning the single horse to a stop. “This morning smelled of frost, did it not? Bran hasn’t been well,” she said to Captain Lannister who broke off from the group and approached her in greeting, “he’s not been out of the house much, and he wanted to see the country before he was shut up again in the house for the winter, so we’ve been to Lannisport and back, and now we head for the house - I have to get Bran home before the rain. There is room for one more if one of the ladies would like to stay dry!”

Before anyone could speak Jaime had stepped closer to the carriage and was conversing quietly with Catelyn beyond the hearing of the party. In response to his enquiry, Catelyn turned and asked something of Bran who seemed to agree on some matter; she then smiled at the captain and turned back to the group. “Brienne, you must be exhausted after being up so early and entertaining the girls, why don’t you ride with us?”

An alarm of suspicion rang in Brienne’s head. Had he spoken her name to Lady Catelyn because he’d observed her weakness or because he was so disgusted with her that he wanted her gone from his sight? And was one reason superior to the other? She hesitated and felt herself dragging her feet to the carriage. “I fear there is not enough room, Lady Catelyn,” she said, eyeing the space dejectedly and settling a foot on the rail, “I am too tall I think.”

“Nonsense. Bran does not take up much room at all and you’ll be doing me a service for you know he does like to go on, and I must mind the road. Please, join us.”

“Oh yes Brienne, you should!” came Arya’s teasing tone from behind her, “Go and take your rest or else I’ll surely beat you in the morning!”

Bran’s voice from the carriage crested over the laughter at her back, “Please Brienne, there’s enough room! It’s not a  _ very _ long ride. And you can tell me if I’m right about the meadow.”

“Brandon,” Catelyn warned, but with warmth that did not discourage him from continuing. 

This drew Brienne’s attention, and she saw in her periphery that Jaime, who had moved around to the front of the carriage, several degrees closer to her, was also eyeing the boy. 

“What meadow?” she asked.

“The meadows around Casterly Rock. We saw them today - I want to know if I’m right about which one is yours.”

She felt her face and chest flush. She had indeed told Bran about the meadow though he’d never been well enough to visit there - her favorite meadow - the one that overlooked the valley at the back of the house, bordered by evergreens and filled with wildflowers for three quarters of the year. And though she had once framed them as her own, as a member of that household, the thought of any ownership on her part was now beyond any imagining. 

“You see?” said Catelyn with a laugh, there is no appeasing him. My apologies, Captain Lannister if my son barters too adamantly with your property.” Catelyn, in her haste to embrace all who were close to her equally, could not have realized then the awkwardness and mortifications which must have been caused by Bran’s declaration and her own flippancy. 

Brienne gripped the side of the carriage’s frame earnestly, the desire to fly away resuming again so forcibly that she imagined herself lifting away from the ground, far away from the laughter and the casual offense and Jaime’s pity. Only then she realized that she  _ was _ being lifted from the ground, partly by her own efforts in deliberately hoisting herself somewhat painfully up onto the rail and then leveraging her hand on the lip of the cart, to climb beside Bran, and partly by the efforts of another, the warmth of whom had seeped in and now braced her against the increasing wind. 

Suddenly the pain in her legs and the weariness in her mind eased - someone else had, unasked, taken on the weight of her, had assisted her into the carriage with their hands at her waist and their chest to her back, had kept her from further injury in her weakened state. It was a kindness that she was wholly unfamiliar with, though the same could not be said for the arms which had done it. It could not have been Sansa or Arya, and Jon did not have an adequate height to have come to her aid. It could only have been Jaime, completing his half-circle around the carriage by degrees until he had stood beside her, and she not noticing for her frustrations. 

In lifting herself upon that first step, he had been able to press his hand and then his wrist to her sides and steady her as she must have wavered, leaving one of her hands free to shift her skirt out of the way of the next and final step. He had not so much as looked her in the eye or spoken a single kindness to her in the entirety of their renewed acquaintance. But this he had done. 

Yes -  _ he _ had done it. She was in the carriage, and  _ he _ had placed her there. Folding herself beside the boy, the brand of Jaime’s fingers still blazing across her middle, she tried to look down and speak - at the least to thank him for his assistance, and at the most… she could not fathom the extent of those possibilities. But he had immediately turned away once she was safely balanced inside the cart, and had already moved to gather Sansa’s arm in the crook of his and move down the lane. No doubt she could owe her state of being seated to his perception of her fatigue, and his resolution to give her rest. 

This little circumstance seemed the completion of all that had gone before, from that first dinner when he had seemingly denied her any semblance of feeling, to that very morning when he had at least been able to stand the sight of her, and finally to his mild enquiries of Sansa. She understood him: he could not forgive her - but he could not be unfeeling towards her. Though condemning her for the past, and though becoming attached to another, still he could not see her suffer without coming to her aid. It was a reminder of former sentiment; it was an impulse of friendship, though she doubted that term welcome between them as yet; it was a further proof of his heart, which she could not contemplate without emotions so compounded of pleasure and pain that she knew not which prevailed. 


	9. Chapter 9

The wind stirred her skirts and she appeared to teeter somewhat precariously. Brienne seemed even more tired and unbalanced now that they had resumed their walk, and the urgency of the impending weather was not agreeable to her current state. Her limp was more pronounced and she could not hasten her steps to distance herself from him any longer, though he was certain that is exactly what she was desperately trying to do, for she turned her face from him whenever he glanced in her direction. Although his heart was pained that she continued to recoil from him, he was more concerned with her well-being than he was with his own pride. If her faltering steps were any indication, she very like would subject herself to more persistent injury, and never utter a word of complaint. 

_ Stubborn wench, I will throw you over my shoulder and carry you if I must. _

Just then, a carriage sounded down the lane of which intersection they had met, and steadily rolled towards them. Upon further scrutiny, he observed it was Lady Stark at the reigns with young Brandon in back. Slowing down to greet them, Jaime saw the opportunity presented and made haste to see to Brienne’s comfort, emboldened by Catelyn’s invitation to transport one of the ladies. 

Approaching the driver’s seat and lowering his voice so as not to be overheard by the others, Jaime communicated his concerns to her. “Dear Lady Stark, your kind offer is very welcome. It has been my observation that during this walk Miss Tarth has not seemed like herself, that is to say, she appears to be very tired and generally too unwell to continue walking. She has not complained at all but I do not think it is in her nature to do so. You must insist that she ride with you or she will do herself an injury.” He had tried to keep his tone as light as possible, but he could hear the tones of concern and unyielding command in his voice.

Catelyn did her part, as did Arya and Bran, but the lady was not obliging.

_ She is conjuring up reasons not to be aided. This cannot be born. I  _ will _ get her on that carriage. _

The captain moved closer to the front, and came up beside Brienne. He was about to insist himself that she get in, when Bran caught him off guard with the mention of “her meadow.”

_ Her meadow? He can only refer to the meadows at Casterly.  _ My _ meadows. Oh gods, she must have walked in those very fields all the time, and lain in them, and— ; the trace memory of her presence in that place must have seeped into my soul and fueled my dreams. Yes, the boy has confirmed it now. Her meadows are my meadows,  _ our _ meadows. _

The memory of his dream in the grass, and his frustrations about her stubborn unwillingness to yield to common sense self-preservation, stirred his passions and he found himself moved to action. The moment he saw her grip the carriage and consider alighting, he was at her back, hand and stump placed firmly at her muscled waist. Her weariness made the elevation of her own weight too troublesome, and so he leaned into her, pressing his chest to her back to support her and used the full strength of his arms to deposit her unceremoniously into the conveyance. Immediately, he was intensely aware of the heat radiating off of her and into his person. The scent of her assaulted him as sweat, trace honeysuckle, and something like burnt cedar wood combined to make an intoxicating aroma he would not soon forget. Electric currents danced from his fingertips to his chest and settled in his belly. He felt his body reacting again and he was certain she would see it written in his face if he allowed her to read it. When she was balanced safely, he turned and abruptly stepped away, both to shield himself from discovery and to school his runaway thoughts.

Confusion, desire, frustration, heartache, and longing all fought for purchase of his addled mind in painful succession. The more he tried to persuade himself that he could be indifferent towards her, the more he found that to be an impossible task. He could not deny that even though she had once rejected him, and even though she had not spoken a word or ventured to look directly at him since that rejection, he was still in as much danger as ever of falling into her snare. 

What was it about her that lit his body aflame? Why did these thoughts persist, and why could he not cease thinking or her? The only explanation he could render was that nothing made sense - all facts were at odds with one another. Her sudden refusal of his addresses, her later refusal of Robb Stark’s, and Sansa Stark’s suggestion that Brienne would only accept someone that truly loved her; it all proved to be part of a large perplexing riddle he had no hope of solving. He needed to be away at once. He must return to Casterly Rock, to anywhere that was not Winterfell, and allow his maelstrom of thoughts to settle and become less clouded, for his body to cool, and for what little self-control he still possessed to become more resolute.

* * *

On their return to the house, Jaime made his excuses to the Starks and assured them that he could not reasonably be expected to join them for dinner that evening, for his father and the estate were in need of his attention. The ride back to the Rock was no more pleasant than riding with a lit cannon ball fastened to his chest. It was madness to proceed this way. There would be no satisfaction in his continued acquaintance with the Starks while Brienne resided under their roof.

Therefore when he received his brother Tyrion’s letter requesting that he come to visit his home in Maidenpool, Jaime’s heart lightened and his worries eased. It had been some time since he had last seen Tyrion, but letters in the time between had kept him abreast of the alterations in his brother’s life. Tyrion’s wife Tysha was heavy with child now and that, combined with Lord Lannister’s continued refusal to accept Tyrion back into the family made it so they would not be venturing anywhere near Casterly Rock, and consequently him, in the foreseeable future. Tyrion’s request had included an assurance that he would help Jaime manage his business transactions now that he was expected to remain home and had a minor fortune to maintain. Having a barrister for a younger brother had many advantages, and having one as clever as Tyrion was nothing less than a blessing from the gods. He loved his brother dearly and admired his courage and intelligence with a fierce intensity that often startled those who thought less of Tyrion due to his dwarfism. Visiting Maidenpool was just the balm his soul needed, and his brother was the perfect person to help him reflect and sort out the disarray in his mind.

The letter had also made mention of Captain Podrick Payne, whom he had come to know fairly well during his naval career, and who was now staying with them and might very much benefit from Jaime’s company. Captain Payne had been betrothed to Tysha’s sister, but she had passed recently from a sudden illness, leaving him devastated at her loss. Podrick had hoped to marry her soon after coming ashore, but found her much too ill, and she soon thereafter succumbed to the illness that ravaged her.

The idea of spending some time away from Brienne Tarth had been welcome at the start, but when the moment came for him to announce his departure to Maidenpool, he felt peculiarly conflicted. He required the clarity which distance would provide but a deep sense of dissatisfaction and sadness gnawed at him to think that he may never see her again if she were to depart for Harrenhal before he returned. Jaime need not have fretted at all, for the Starks had a very different notion of how his trip to Maidenpool would unfold.

“Let us all go!” Jon volunteered enthusiastically. He was very fond of Captain Payne himself and was eager to visit Maidenpool given its proximity to the sea.

The room erupted into excitement as both Sansa and Arya became enamored of the idea of joining Jon and Captain Lannister on a trip to the sea. Sansa, being full young and too contained at home, felt she needed to expose herself to someplace more interesting than Winterfell or Lannisport, so she could start to be acquainted with varied classes of people and show her accomplishments to their greatest effect; and, seeking Captain Lannister’s attention, she stated that she had not seen the sea in quite some time and thought it would do well for her spirits to breathe in the ocean air. Arya was similarly excited to visit the seaside and go on an adventure before her impending nuptials. 

Lady Stark was not overly fond of the idea of sending her two young daughters on an extended trip without her, and she could not attend for need of tending to Bran, as winter was coming and so too would the worst of his afflictions. Jon was a suitable chaperone for short excursions but a long trip overnight to a port town was something altogether different. She began to make her objections, but then turned to Brienne - whom Jaime had observed had quite recovered from her exertions - expectantly. “Of course, if dearest Brienne will join you, I would have no objection of you going to Maidenpool, or any place, for I know that you would be in excellent care with her.”

Sansa took up Brienne’s hands and looked pleadingly at her, “Oh Brienne, please. Do say that you will come. It will be so lovely to go there before it turns too cold. I do so want to go for walks along the sea and discover what fashions they carry in their shops. Perhaps, I can find that ribbon to match the dress I selected for Arya’s wedding day.”

Arya also chimed in. “Yes, Brienne! Please come. Jon and the captain are lively company and Captain Lannister tells me that his brother is quite witty too. We’ll be a terribly merry party, and perhaps it shall ease our parting from you in a few days if we have an adventure to recall.”

Jaime could sense that the lady was not eager to join them but her resolve melted in the face of such sweet and ardent entreaties. “Alright, Arya. Alright, Sansa. I shall not deny you this pleasure. Yes, let us all go.” She looked around the room to say this collectively, but her gaze studiously avoided him. Returning to observe the hands in her lap carefully, her blush became a deep crimson color which caused Jaime to realize that he had been staring at her, studying her every movement for some time, trying desperately to understand her as he once believed that he had. He was no longer certain of anything he once thought to be true. His instincts had led him to false conclusions and his observations had been flawed. How could he trust his own mind? If only he could speak to her. If only she  _ wanted _ to speak with him.

_ No. It makes little sense to torture myself this way. The lady does not wish to be known. Leave her be Jaime. Move on and leave her be. _


	10. Chapter 10

Two days before, when the scheme was laid out, Brienne would not have expected their ride to be so uneventful. The trip to the seaside would be an unexpected interruption in her plans, though not an unpleasant one, and she had fortified her spirits against Jaime’s presence, determined to make it so. But he had spent the entirety of the ride driving the carriage while the ladies rode in the cab, sometimes with Jon when he tired of the air. Jaime never left his position at the reins, seeming to enjoy the freedom of not being cramped inside with them, with her. 

Perhaps touching her to assist her into Lady Catelyn’s carriage had been too much for him, though in a different way as it was for her. The heat of him against her back had sunk into her flesh and remained with her throughout that night as her body recovered from her exertions, lending itself to a succession of dreams so vivid and full of forgiveness that she woke from them gasping, and grasping at the bed as if to find him there, pressed to her. The feel of his arms at her sides still tormented her even a day later as Sansa had taken her hands and begged her agree to chaperone them to Maidenpool. 

She had been apprehensive of the journey, not for giving the girls a freedom they had not yet experienced - for that was Catelyn’s purview - and not even of being so long in Jaime’s company, for now that she knew him not to be unfeeling, she feared an encounter with him less though she still shied from his indifferent glances. No, her concern had been for Jaime, and sensing that he had not made the announcement to encourage their company, but to acknowledge his breaking from it. Unfortunately Jon was not so sensitive to his former commander’s feelings, and Jaime was too polite to disappoint them. 

Brienne was glad of her own politeness and propriety in that moment, without which she might have shown more eagerness to go with them and less care for that concern which she’d had for Jaime’s wishes. His declaration of departure had meant that he would leave and not return before her own, and it sparked an uncharacteristically selfish blaze within her, stoked by recent events. The thought of spending a few more days in Jaime’s company, even at a distance, even with her regrets hanging between them would give her some significant comfort when she did depart to never see him again. And it was this which motivated her acquiescence. 

They set out early in the morning when the dew was still frozen. The journey would take a fair few hours and the captains had wished to arrive at their destination while there was still some daylight to be enjoyed. Brienne was anxious for sights of the sea more than the town, not knowing when her next opportunity might be, and would have been happy to arrive at any time so long as she might see the sun rise over the eastern waters as she had done countless times in her childhood on the isle of Tarth. 

She had loved the sea as a girl, loved to sit in the shallows and watch the colors of the sun’s beams on the water change around her skin as if she were transforming with it, her watery reflection somehow becoming beautiful in this otherworldly space. She would not feel that way again until the evening of a midsummer ball when Jaime Lannister would see into her - look right into her eyes and summon her soul to embrace his, transforming her into something beautiful and desired. 

They said that same sea now ran red in places with the blood of all the men who’d been slaughtered in the war. Robb had been taken by it. Jaime’s hand had been lost to it as well, she supposed. Robb, marriage or no, would have gone to war following his uncle’s death, there was no question of that. But Jaime had only thrown himself into the cause after her rejection. He was successful in it, and now could live off of that success, but granting him that did not in any way lessen the guilt she felt for what he’d lost. 

She wished that she might speak with him; if any words at all might pass between them let it be her remorse. She knew he would not accept any apology, but even if that former sentiment was truly dead then perhaps he could at least allow room for a hand proffered in friendship, though it be an ill-fitting replacement for the one he had lost. Her courage up, lifted by the new transparency of his nature, she had only to find an opportunity to speak, but as she was now charged with the care of the girls she knew not how to broach it. 

* * *

They arrived at Maidenpool in mid-afternoon. After depositing their belongings at the inn the group made their way on foot through the town. They were come too late in the year for any amusement or variety which Maidenpool, as a public place, might offer. And, as there is nothing to admire in the buildings themselves, the cobb skirting round the pleasant bay and the very beautiful line of cliffs stretching out east around it are what the stranger’s eye will seek, and there find charm enough to wish to know the place better. 

The party from Winterfell soon found themselves by the sea. The Miss Starks looked about, pleased to have arrived at so quiet a time when they might spin and dance ahead along the avenue without encountering traffic. Captain Lannister stayed them all when he, having lead the way, arrived at door number thirty-seven and knocked thence. 

Mr. Tyrion Lannister was a man shorter than Arya with dark golden hair and a fixed intelligent expression which lent one the sense of being constantly measured and assessed by him. He was almost nothing like his brother, save for the affectionate look that passed between them. Having been privy to the knowledge of his stature from living with the family, Brienne was the only one of the party, save Jaime, who did not look on him with some little surprise, and for that she thought she saw him return what she thought a flash of appreciation.

He embraced his brother and then welcomed the group into his home. Once they settled into the small drawing room, Tyrion’s wife Tysha joined them. She was nearing her confinement, and looked terribly happy at that. Brienne could not help but notice that her husband shared in her happiness; the couple seemed altogether well-suited and involved in the most affectionate kind of love. 

Hovering behind Tysha in the hall was another man. He was of a height with Captain Snow, with dark hair and a ruddy complexion, and his face seemed to contain a sadness under its boyishness which rivaled the strength of Tyrion and Tysha’s happiness combined. Captain Snow, who was already acquainted with Captain Payne, embraced him as an old friend, and it was with him that Jaime began introductions. In doing so, it seemed to Brienne, this freed Jaime of the task of introducing the rest of the party, for Jon was easy in saying “and here are my two cousins Miss Stark and Miss Arya, and our dear friend Miss Tarth.” without stumbling.

Captain Payne had some time ago been first lieutenant under Captain Lannister, and Jaime’s account of him as an excellent officer with a sympathetic history had rendered him perfectly interesting in the eyes of all the ladies. Following the death of his intended - and Mrs. Lannister’s sister - Captain Payne had been living with the Lannisters entirely. In addition to paying some small rent to them, he did Tyrion a great service by tending to any necessary repairs to the home or needs which Tysha might have in the village. The greying autumn skies of Maidenpool were perfectly suited to Captain Payne’s state of mind, and the sympathy and goodwill excited towards him was very great. 

While Captain Lannister and his brother led the talk on one side of the room, engaging Captain Snow and the other ladies with anecdotes enough to occupy and entertain, it fell to Brienne’s lot to be placed rather apart with Captain Payne; and a very good impulse of her nature obliged her to converse with him. He was shy, but the engaging mildness of her countenance soon had its effect; and Brienne was well repaid the first trouble of exertion. 

He was young and had a considerable taste for reading, principally in poetry; but besides having given him at least an evening’s indulgence of discussion of subjects which his usual companions had probably no concern in, she had the hope of being of real use to him in some suggestions as to struggling against affliction, which had naturally grown out of their conversation. For though shy, he did not seem overly reserved; and having talked of poetry, he showed himself so intimately acquainted with all the impassioned descriptions of hopeless agony of the poets and he repeated, with such tremulous feeling, the various lines which imaged a mind destroyed by wretchedness, that she ventured to hope he did not always read _ only _poetry. 

He was an attentive listener, and seemed grateful to have the interest repaid. He was, although living with friends, by all accounts a lonely soul starved for the company of others on whose attentions he might rely, and whose thoughts tended towards the less morose, or those whose discussion might bear lessons in patience and resilience rather than indulgence. At the end of the evening, Brienne could not help fearing, on more serious reflection, that she had, in her earnestness to be of assistance to him, been too eloquent on a point in which her own conduct would ill bear examination, for he seemed in an altogether lighter mood when they departed.

_ He has not _ , thought Brienne, _ a more sorrowing heart than I have. I cannot believe his prospects so blighted forever. He is younger than I am; younger in feeling, if not in fact; younger as a man. Mine is not the example. He will rally again, and be happy with another _. 

On quitting the house and walking back to the inn for the evening, Jon and Sansa seemed tired for all their talking. Arya remained bright-eyed and eager, and led the party back the way they had come that morning. Brienne held the rear, preferring the solitude of her thoughts and, on some level, having hoped that she would hear footsteps behind her, enticing her to a conversation which she sincerely wished for. What small glances she had passed to the other side of the room had captured a strange affect in Jaime’s looks. And though he was much engaged and she was dedicated to Podrick, and was therefore unable to stray long enough on his face to catch his eye, she saw that he seemed at best content being there and, at worst, terribly bored; the contentedness would out in her mind.

* * *

Brienne woke before the dawn and, certain that she would encounter no one this early, and in the off-season, put on her slippers and donned her pelisse, and slipped out of the room, careful not to wake the girls. She made her way down the stairs and then out to the stone terrace at the back of the inn which overlooked the bay. 

The breeze was comfortable, without the chill that now blew through the fields at home. The brine of the sea air was invigorating, and she leaned on the low wall, drawing in as much as she could as the pinks and oranges of dawn began to creep forth, fingers of color splashing forward across the dark water’s surface. When the sun finally broke over the horizon, the clouds cleared and Brienne was basked in warmth. She felt her very skin come alive and wondered when ever she might have this pleasure again. For tomorrow they would already be on the road back to Winterfell. And from thence, she would go to Harrenhal where all sorts of displeasures surely awaited her. 

She took comfort in the knowledge that she would have the day ahead in which to accomplish all that she needed to - to see her newest acquaintance’s mind be at ease and, if luck held, to solicit Jaime’s friendship.   
  
_ Only one day, _ she thought, _ to capture that smile with my mind’s eye before we are again parted perhaps forever. Today. I shall find a way to speak to him today. _


	11. Chapter 11

Driving the carriage to Maidenpool had given Jaime an occupation, and the knowledge that Brienne was securely seated in the cab behind him gave him a great deal of satisfaction. Despite his initial wish to take this journey alone, he also received some slim measure of happiness from the idea that she would meet his brother, whom he thought the only member of his family worth meeting. 

Tyrion would approve of his choice of her had the circumstances been more appropriate, but it was too difficult to think of that now, for the lady did not care for him and never had. His affection had not tempted her to love him, nor moved her enough to tolerate him beyond a temporary distraction, and this he believed was directly tied to his worthiness of those affections which she had refused to bestow. She was too kind, gentle, selfless, and loving for this world, much less for a selfish wretch like him. But he would not allow his disappointment in himself to be a cloud over everyone else’s merriment. He would not impede their joy, he would encourage it; he could at least give her that and take nothing. His heart jolted in his chest when he thought of her smile.

_ I miss that the most, the way her eyes would sparkle when she was truly happy. _

Nay, even his affections towards her would be selfish, for he still sought to uncover her true self beneath that mask of acquiescence and contriteness, to pull the cover from her eyes and expose them to the blazing heat and adulation of his gaze, to extricate smiles and laughter from her lips, to stir her passions and know that he was master of them. These were the things he had always longed for but knew could never be his. Perhaps he could grow to understand her better and this would be of some comfort to him. Perhaps he could offer her kindness and this would be of some comfort to her, and it was abundantly clear that she was in need of comfort among these friends.

To this end, he made sure their belongings were securely lodged at the inn before directing their footsteps along the shore, recalling eyes bluer and warmer than the bay, which even now seemed to shy from him. Miss Stark danced about happily ahead of them and Miss Arya followed close behind, while Brienne and Jon took up the rear. He found himself in an indefinable place of being neither here nor there but always in-between.

It must have been written in the look upon Jaime’s face for Tyrion hesitated and searched his eyes before embracing him affectionately when he answered the door. Once inside, the look of recognition in Tyrion’s face as Brienne was introduced to him also did not go unnoticed. It was this recognition that, while they sat amiably and spoke of younger days, set the wheels spinning.

Those inquiring glances amplified the dull ache that had started to shorten his breaths the moment he had walked into the small home. His brother was living a blissfully happy life with his doting wife, who glowed with maternal warmth, and Jaime was able to observe from afar all the things he had always wanted for himself while the object of his affections stood close enough to touch but not embrace.

Poor Captain Payne’s palpable sadness also served to remind him of his own loss and grief, and overhearing Podrick speak so movingly to Brienne of his broken heart, made his own feel like it was being ripped out of his chest. Brienne was all kindness and sympathy but Jaime felt overcome with an urge to silence the young man, to spare her from this burden of sorrow, to spare himself the agony of adding to his own. But rather than act on these feelings, he pushed them down, and went away inside for a while, as he sometimes found himself doing whenever his emotions overwhelmed him. He smiled and spoke and shook hands with Jon when they parted company for the evening, bidding them all farewell, but he could not recall with any certainty what else had transpired between them.

Tyrion found him still in this unmoored state later that evening, after Tysha had gone to bed and Podrick had taken his leave of the room, with a less-sorrowful aspect than before.

“Dear brother,” said Tyrion handing him a pint of ale, “you are not well.” 

“For quite some time now, brother, if ever I truly was well, the remembrance of that interval is but a reminder of what I thought could be mine but was merely the gods tempting me for their own amusement.” Jaime drank thoroughly from the glass.

“You speak in riddles, but fate sought to make me clever enough to decipher them; whether this be blessing or curse, is yet to be determined by you.” Tyrion considered the grain of the table before speaking directly, “There is only one person who was here today who could have inspired such introspections and accusations hurled at the heavens. You can only be speaking of Miss Tarth. Your glances at that lady all evening have been agonizing to behold. I can only surmise that you still care for her?” Tyrion raised a questioning brow at him before draining his own glass and pouring them both more ale from the pitcher on the kitchen table.

“My feelings matter not. She does not care for me. She never did, and never will.” His temper was quickly shifting from sadness to anger.

“How can you be so certain? She has told you this, or does it come second-hand from one of those overly-excitable Stark girls?”

“I have not spoken to her. She will not even so much as glance in my direction. She does not wish to be near me. That is how I know she cannot possibly welcome my attentions, much less my affections. I would offer her friendship but she has no need of more, friends she has in abundance, though they do not look after her as they ought. They allow her to give of herself beyond her limits, without recompense, without restraint, without a care for her own needs.” His throat clenched tightly as emotion choked the wind out of it.

“Then, it may be that she does not need more of those friends, and therefore your efforts there are ineffective; it sounds like she needs a friendship more like the one you would offer her; one that understands her limits. Though I have not known the lady long, she does not strike me as someone to whom conversation comes easily. She may not know _ how _ to converse with the man whom she rejected all those years ago. Did it occur to you that she may think you despise her, hate her, blame her even,” he said, gesturing at Jaime’s empty wrist, “and would not welcome _ her _friendship? It could be that she feels so much remorse for all these events that she does not believe you could ever forgive her. Perhaps she is simply frightened--you can be quite intimidating at times my sweet but temperamental brother.” Tyrion patted his arm affectionately.

Jaime sat a little straighter at this. “I will try to speak with her but I fear… I do not know how to begin; I can never be certain of how my feelings might betray me.”

Tyrion leaned forward, his chin resting on his hands, pressed to the table. “Pay less attention to your own fears, and mind hers. Observe. Listen. The truth of her feelings will become apparent to you and will direct yours if you are brave enough to follow.”

Jaime bristled at the implication in his words. “I have been unjustly persecuted, and accused of a great many things in my life, but no one has ever accused me of cowardice.”

“And yet, here we are.” Tyrion lifted his glass. “To bravery and to hope, when fear threatens and all hope appears to be lost!”

Lifting his glass Jaime sighed heavily, “To truth and friendship, when doubt creeps in and circumstances appear insurmountable.”

The rest of the evening was spent conversing about Tyrion’s business ventures and hopes for the future. Many pints of ale were shared among the brothers and eventually they moved to the comfort of the sofa where the warmth of the alcohol coursing through their veins, the fire blazing in the hearth, and the consolation of brotherly affection lulled them to sleep.

* * *

Once dressed, Brienne joined the Starks and their cousin in the dining room to break their fast. Arya and Sansa chattered on about all that they hoped to see that day, and Jon ate quietly, seemingly suffering from perhaps imbibing too much in the company of his friends. They walked the streets without their additional layers, taking in the scenery, the sky a clear warm blue above them. When the morning grew late, they called at number thirty-seven and Tysha Lannister opened the door quietly, not wishing to rouse Tyrion or his brother too forcefully from their spots on the sofa, as they too had imbibed perhaps too much. 

When all were well-met, it was determined that they would take some light refreshment for lunch and then go exploring along the shore. Brienne, upon sitting, once again found herself apart with Captain Payne, and they resumed their conversation of the night before. 

Brienne considered the plate before her but found herself too stirred by the captain’s speeches to keep anything down. This business of love and loss was too present and acute while the subject of it was so near at hand. Instead she sat with hands fidgeting in her lap and attempted to be of use to the younger man.

“My grief feels bottomless, Miss Tarth. Can you understand that? Or have you never loved and lost as I have?”

She looked on him kindly. She felt her skin ready to color at her next words, but she took a deep breath and assembled her thoughts before replying in an effort to keep the visualization of her discomfort at bay. “I have had many losses, Captain Payne, which grief has followed. But I spent most of my life feeling that I could not be loved, for I have always been much as you see me now: too tall, too plain,” here she looked casually about the room at the younger women chatting animatedly, “too quiet,” she turned back to him, gesturing at her person, “too strong. Too intimidating to be loved. And yet I _ have _ loved with the deepest affection, and _ been _ loved so completely... the loss of _ that _has been more grievous to my heart than the loss of any person from this earth. And it is indeed difficult to find purchase when those feelings are so persistent.”

Pod considered her, and set his own plate down before speaking. “Robb Stark was a good man—”

Brienne colored and rushed to correct him. “No—” she said perhaps too animatedly, “That is, yes, he was, and yes we did lose Robb, but he was not— _ we _ were not... That is to say, his mother would have wished it so. But I—”

He cut her off with a touch of his hand on hers. “I am mortified, Miss Tarth. I did not mean to rouse such emotion in chasing my own sorrow.”

“It is no trouble, truly,” she assured him, “_ I _ am sorry if you were misinformed. He was my oldest, dearest friend. But… I did not love him in that way.” She shrugged, “I could not. And he could not love me.”

“And do you grieve for him no more, then?”

“We do - we do grieve - all of us. But it is different. Had he been… had I loved him as you have loved, then I would grieve adamantly until the end of my days.”

“It is not in your nature, then, as it is not in mine, to forget those we love most.”

“It would not be in the nature of any woman who truly loved.”

“Do you claim that for your sex, then?” A curious smile crossed Podrick Payne’s features for the first time in their acquaintance, and she smiled back her answer, hoping to sustain him. 

“Yes. We certainly do not forget you as soon as you forget us. We live at home, confined, and our feelings prey on us. But you always have a profession or pursuits of some sort to take you back into the world immediately; change, whether from outward sources or from within, soon weakens impressions. That is man’s nature.”

"I will not allow it to be more man's nature than woman's to be inconstant and forget those they love, or have loved. We shall never agree upon this question, I think. If only I could but make you comprehend what a man suffers when he takes a last look at his love as his ship pushes off, and then turns away and says, `Gods know whether we ever meet again!' Then might you comprehend all that a man can do for those he loves.”

“I believe you capable of everything great and good, that you are equal to every important exertion, so long as you have an object. So long as the woman you love lives, and lives for you. So long as hope is still there. Beyond that, you should be free to love again. A woman’s heart does not heal so quickly at such a loss, especially when the world offers that woman so little love in return.”

At this, she paused, suppressing a sob. “All the privilege I claim for my own sex is that of loving longest when hope has dispersed."

She could not immediately have uttered another sentence; her heart was too full, her breath too much oppressed. She turned further into the corner to protect the sight of her flushed appearance from the room. Captain Payne observed her distress and held her hand with both of his. 

"You are a good soul, Miss Tarth." He said quite affectionately. "There is no quarreling with you. I believe you to be intimately familiar with such a loss of hope, and assure you that your sincerity has been proven.” He drew himself a little closer and met her eye more closely. “Whomever he was, I hope that he deserved the affection you still carry for him. I know he must have. And if not, and if he still lives, I would not envy the man who inspired such devotion only to prove his unworthiness. Not to you. You are too fierce and too good to be toyed with, so.”

“No,” she sniffed, “he is the best of men.” She smiled and squeezed his hand, nodding her assurances. “The best of men.”

* * *

Daylight broke in. His thoughts were muddled; the dull throbbing of a headache formed behind his eyes. He set off to the guest quarters as rapidly as his feet could carry him to freshen up after having awoken on the sofa beside his brother with the sounds of murmuring voices softly conversing in the kitchen. 

Squinting to ascertain the time on his way to his quarters, he was startled to find that it was almost mid-day. He should not have allowed his brother to waylay him with conversation and spirits so late into the evening. How was he supposed to be an altogether proper host when all he desired was to bury his head under the quilts and sleep until his mind cleared? Seeing the state of her husband, Tysha had anticipated Jaime’s needs and brought him a rather large glass of water and a pitcher containing enough for him to replenish it once it was gone. He made himself drink two glasses until he felt the water sloshing around in his stomach and threatening to come back up.

Steadying his nerves and stomach he entered the dining room where Tysha had set the table with a light meal for the group. He felt somewhat embarrassed to be in this physical and mental state but a few glances towards Brienne, engrossed in another deep conversation with Podrick, told him she did not seem to be aware of him at all. Selecting a toast as the safest choice in his current condition, he sat himself diagonally to her left so that he could watch her countenance as she spoke. Observe and listen, as Tyrion had said.

She was leaning in towards Podrick and speaking softly, but audibly enough that he might catch many of their words and might attempt to interpret the unheard movements of her lips. The subject of grief was once again at hand but, in her trying to console the young man, she was supplying some private confidences of her own.

“I have always been much as you see me now” she stated before going on to describe the many ways she thought herself so unpleasing to the eye that no man could ever fall in love with her.

_ So this is what she truly thinks? When I spoke of love is this the scale upon which she weighed the value of my regard? _

But no, now she admitted to her companion that indeed she _ had _ loved and _ been _ loved. She could not be speaking of Robb, unless Sansa was mistaken...

“...my oldest, dearest friend. But… I did not love him in that way.” She shrugged, “I could not. And he could not love me.” He heard her say and he took a deep breath to calm his rattled nerves. 

_ So, it is true. They did not love one another beyond what friendship would permit, and yet every friendship she offers is more loyal than may be supported. _

Her next words slammed into his chest as if she had struck him there with the blunt edge of her sword.

“...we certainly do not forget you as soon as you forget us…our feelings prey on us. But you always have a profession or pursuits of some sort to take you back into the world immediately; change, whether from outward sources or from within, soon weakens impressions. That is man’s nature.”

_ Ha! If you only knew the truth of it, Brienne. This ache in me is not the result of weakened impressions, as you say. If only I could know how to feel less, I would. No... I must not lie to myself. I would change nothing, save her opinion of me. Thank goodness Podrick is a young man of deep feeling and can speak in my stead, of the sincerity and longevity of our affections, of how deeply men can love when the love is true. _

“I believe you capable of everything great and good…so long as you have an object…So long as hope is still there…A woman’s heart does not heal so quickly at such a loss” 

Brienne’s chest heaved and she appeared to be suppressing some profound emotion that could only be heartache, and which spoke directly to the ache in his own. “All the privilege I claim for my own sex is that of loving longest when hope has dispersed."

_ What is she saying? That she loves someone still? Who… Could she be saying that… _

His heart beat frantically in his chest and his belly lurched unpleasantly. Miss Stark or her sister would have revealed it had there been another suitor. If she was not speaking of Robb, there could only be one alternative. He could not be certain of course, but what else was he to come to understand from her words?

He heard Podrick say, “I hope that he deserved the affection you still carry for him. I know he must have. And if not, and if he still lives, I would not envy the man who inspired such devotion only to prove his unworthiness. Not to you. You are too fierce and too good to be toyed with, so.” 

“No,” she said, the depth of her emotion seeming to draw her inward, “he is the best of men.” She smiled and squeezed his hand, nodding her assurances. “The best of men.” 

In his soul he knew of whom she spoke and no matter how hard he tried to deny the truth of it, there it remained, lodged somewhere beneath his breastbone, thumping like a drum at the dawn of war, proclaiming death for some and victory for others. He had never experienced pain like this, not on any battlefield, not after any loss. This was the pain of hope returning after he thought it lost, resurrected from the dark fathoms of his former regrets. This was the pain of redemption he thought he would never earn, nor deserve. The pain of beating back his greatest fears to jump into an unknown chasm with only a small thread of hope to cling to, not knowing if that thread would hold, but wanting to cross the chasm more than anything he had ever wanted in his entire life. Brienne was on the other side. Brienne’s love was on the other side. 

She thought him the best of men. A shiver went through his body and he trained his eyes on the table lest she see his distress and desires.

_ I loved you then, Brienne. And I love you still. _

The thought of them both suffering needlessly these many years, the fact that all that had separated them was uncertainty and absurd conventions and gods damned propriety and a wooden table, caused a surge of emotion to erupt from his chest in a guttural moan which startled some in the room. They turned to him but, before he could meet their scrutiny, he gathered himself up and fled to the safety of his quarters. Behind the closed door, he allowed the emotions to surge through him in towering waves. For the first time since that night ten years ago, when she had shattered his heart, he allowed the tears to come, to sweep him away into a world of lost possibilities, to mourn the time which had been stolen from them. He sank to the ground, the door at his back, burying his face in the crook of his arm, and let the sleeve of his morning coat soak them up and stifle the sobs that overcame him. 

_ She might still love me. _

This thought alone helped him to climb out of the abyss. He felt encouraged to speak with her in a way that he never had been since seeing her again. Taking deep calming breaths, he splashed water onto his face, and shook his hand through his unruly hair to compose himself. He needed, however, something to help steady his shaking hand and lessen the now-stabbing pain in his head. 

Relying on his knowledge of his brother, he went to Tyrion’s room and poured himself a few drams of brandy which he swallowed at once. The alcohol burned his throat most unpleasantly, but he had always trusted his brother’s sage advice in these matters for he had better wisdom than most. “A hair from the dog that bit you” and a liquid courage remedy all in one convenient glass definitely seemed the best course of action at a time when he needed to clear his head and grasp at the opportunity for happiness which had evaded him for so long.

When he returned to the kitchen, he observed that the others were readying themselves to go for a walk along the shore. Knowing that this may be his best and only chance to speak with Brienne he smiled courageously and searched for her face among the crowd, but she was already walking out with Arya, who was dragging her along excitedly. In his search he caught Sansa’s eye instead, who smiled at him cheerfully in turn.

Podrick and the rest of the Starks walked out through the door soon after. They all headed down the lane and towards the path that would lead them to the beach. Jaime was the last person out of the house and had to quicken his steps in order to catch up to Brienne, her long strides making it so that she was halfway to the beach already.

* * *

They walked as a group, and Brienne was too awash in feeling still to make any concerted effort to draw close to Jaime. As they drew near the cobb, there was such a general wish to walk along it that none would be denied. Tyrion and Tysha turned back then, as Tysha did not like to be too far from home in her condition, and the rest followed Arya and Sansa along the path that eventually split to ride the top of the stone divide, or follow the shore along the water. Brienne thought to draw his attention then, but Sansa had it first and, instead, Brienne found Captain Payne again drawing near her while Jaime and Sansa walked ahead, Arya eventually falling behind with Jon. Lord Byron’s “dark blue seas” could not fail of being brought forward by their present view, and she gladly gave her new friend all of the attention which was not occupied by trying to preserve in her mind the way the wind from the bay teased the waves of Jaime’s hair up ahead, as long as attention was possible. 

It was soon drawn perforce another way.


	12. Chapter 12

Miss Stark bounded up beside him, and grabbed his hand, buoyantly pulling him along until they were passing everyone, including Arya and Brienne. “Oh captain, is this not wonderful? Do you not just love the sea air blowing in your hair?” She was giggling and spinning in the wind like the child that she most definitely still remained and less the woman he had once, momentarily, thought would be suitable enough to marry.

Gently, he managed to pull his hand out of her grasp and slow his steps, hoping the rest of the party would catch up to them if he could get Sansa to match his pace for a few minutes. How far behind had they gotten? How would he ever get a chance to converse with Brienne if he had to be Sansa’s chosen companion on this walk?

They came upon a portion of the cobb where it split off, the stonework continued to rise, but it diverged to a path which led to rocks and boulders along the beach below; one might stroll and still enjoy the view but from higher ground. Jon and Arya had chosen the more adventurous path along the beach just behind them, while he followed Sansa still, up the incline of the structure. Having slowed his pace even further, he found that he could just pick up the sounds of Brienne’s conversation behind him.

“Captain," came Sansa's voice ahead of him, "do you think I can walk along this narrow portion of the wall here? I have always had excellent balance!” The foolish girl was now teetering on the ledge which, at this section of the path, was a few feet elevated from the rocks below. 

“Sansa, I do not think that is wise. The wind is quite treacherous at this height. Please, step back from the edge.” He tried to command a stern but not unfriendly tone, but the girl was not persuaded.

“I am determined to do it, Captain Lannister. I am resolved to reach the end. I am going to do it. I will.” Sansa’s steps wobbled but she remained ever-fixed on her course.

Brienne’s voice sounded behind him, no closer, but louder as if shouting above the wind. He turned to glance back at her just as he saw Sansa teetering precariously at the edge. He reached to try and steady her. But he instinctively grabbed for the girl with his dominant arm, where the hand was no more and, consequently, it moved uselessly through the space where she had been before she landed on the stones below. 

* * *

His heart leapt into his throat at the sight of her lying, unmoving. Shouts rang down the beach. Jon was navigating the edge of the rocky space to reach his fallen cousin while the girl’s sister diverted back to the stone path and ran to Jaime’s side as if to guide Jon’s movements. But Brienne had already gathered her skirts and lowered herself off of the side of the wall, down to the uneven ground below. With single-minded determination, she carefully made her way to the girl’s side and knelt to examine her for injury. Jon could only shout and pace some steps away, in his panic believing the girl mortally wounded.

Brienne held Sansa’s head in her arms and shouted up the wall to them, “She’s hit her head but there is no blood. Her neck is sound. She is unconscious but she draws breath.”

Jon shouted up at him over Brienne’s head, “What can we do for her? What should we do?”

Jaime assessed intently the veracity of Brienne’s words as she cradled the girl in her lap. Almost without conscious thought, his gaze traveled slowly upward towards Brienne’s chest, up the column of her neck, to her chin, and finally resting on her face; there he found that her eyes had already sought his out, and pinned them now in an intimate embrace. Time moved slowly then, the whoosh of his beating heart sounding in his ears. Her eyes pierced his very soul, and laid her own bare as they became truly re-acquainted with one another for the first time. Those eyes that sparkled with unshed tears showed no fear, only deep restrained wells of emotion only paralleled by his own.

_ There you are. How I have missed you. _

He felt his own eyes sting, and a lump formed in his throat. Thankfully, words would not be necessary; everything that needed be communicated between them was already written in incandescently blue ink before him. She put her trust in him, and he in her, to do what needed be done. Brienne had the girl; he would do the rest. They had shared duty between them now, and together they would see it done. 

Jaime nodded at Brienne decisively and tore his eyes away from her, turning to the frantic man behind her. “Jon, do anything and everything that Brienne asks of you. She is the most competent and I trust her judgment better than my own.” 

He turned to Podrick, “Go find a maester. I trust you know best where to find one.” The man, quite affected, ran down the path towards town as if the stranger himself were after him.

Jaime squeezed the shoulder of the pale girl beside him, who seemed smaller and younger than he’d ever known her, “Everything will be alright, Arya. Run back to my brother’s house and beg Tysha set up a bed for Miss Sansa - no, tell them to use my quarters, for there is space enough to maneuver. It will be a more suitable place for her to convalesce than at the inn.” The girl took off running at breakneck speed, unquestioningly surpassed Podrick’s, back to the house.

Brienne had lifted the girl gingerly and was carrying her in her strong arms, as if Sansa weighed no more than a bag of grain; they were already halfway to the divergence in the path, Jon skittering around her, nervously offering assistance as she struggled to focus on her footing and resolutely ignored him. 

Sensing that Jon might easily impede her in his carelessness, Jaime ran to meet them and pulled the man out of her way. “Captain Snow, step aside. Brienne has her. Sansa is secure. Follow me and let us clear a path for them. There appear to be some people gathering up ahead, and they might obstruct her safe passage. Tysha is preparing a bed as we speak, all will be well.”

The gathered crowd was composed of both laborer and gentry, all of whom ogled as they approached, but offered no assistance. Jaime turned to the other man, “Jon, get behind Brienne and make sure that no one jostles them. I will continue to clear a path to the door. The house is just over there. Not much further to go.” He drew himself to his full height and dared any of those observing to question the makeup of their procession.

He ventured a glance back at Brienne to find that her gaze was fixed on the target, the small house with the weather-beaten door which Arya now held open for them, tears falling. Jaime stepped out of the way so that Brienne might cross the threshold first, and the girl’s cousin followed right behind her. Over Jon’s shoulder he could see Brienne turn to the shorter man and place Sansa carefully in his arms so that he might transport her to the bed which Tysha had turned over. He could see Brienne’s arms shaking visibly from the exertion of having carried the girl nearly a mile from the site. Her face was flushed but her eyes were cast down to where Arya had grabbed ahold of her waist. Tyrion entered the room pushing a chair from the kitchen ahead of him, a look of unmasked wonder on his face, and positioned the seat behind Brienne. She sank down weak, without care for where she landed, but found herself seated there and wrapped Arya in her comforting arms. But for his brother, she would at that moment been crumpled on the floor.

_ Even in her own physical and mental exhaustion, she still finds the necessary strength and compassion to bring comfort to others in need. My own strong, ever-capable, selfless, and tender-hearted Brienne. _

Arya looked up into Brienne’s face then, “Thank you for carrying her all this way.” Then, she turned and looked up at him. “Captain, thank you. I shudder to think of how differently this might have gone if Brienne were not so capable and you were not so decisive. Seven blessings!” The girl stood and went sobbing to her cousin.

_ If I am the best of men, she is the best of women. Nay, she is the very best of us all. _

He sought her eyes to communicate his gratitude and admiration in the only way he knew how, since words had once again escaped him, but she was looking down and appeared to be in deep concentration. 

* * *

Brienne was at sea. 

It was the only explanation for the rocking sensation all around her, the only reasoning behind why and how everyone who stood before her seemed to sway. 

_ Someone is shouting - Arya? _

Perhaps their ship had been set on by pirates and Arya was finally getting her chance to defeat those arch-nemeses of her fantasy. 

_ When was the last time I was on a boat? When I left Tarth? I’ve missed this. _

Her arms feel so heavy. Perhaps she’s been rowing. 

_ No that wouldn’t make sense.  _

A shadow passed overhead. 

_ Clouds? _

Perhaps the sails blocking out the sunlight and casting them into darkness. No, a figure. 

_ Jaime. _

She would know his form anywhere. Of course Jaime was there, they were on a ship. A ship needed a captain. 

_ I need him. _

He is crouching before her trying to draw her gaze up. She had wanted to touch the golden waves of his hair on the cobb, feel them slide through her fingers as she finally held him to her. 

_Jaime where is Arya?_ _You have to protect Arya from the pirates. _

He’s saying her name.

_ Again. When did he begin saying my name again?  _

She looks up.

_ Oh -  _

_ His eyes.  _

_ There they are.  _

_ Like diving into bright green meadows.  _

_ Our meadows.  _

She focused on his eyes, the pupils expanding as he watched her, those eyes she loved so much dragging her out of the deep. 

_ He speaks, but of what? _

And then his hand was on her shoulder. 

The rocking eased. He no longer swayed before her. His eyes were fixed points, guiding her home, his hand the anchor keeping her from drifting anew. She breathed as if it were her first breath, as if the pain of the very oxygen expanding her lungs might make her scream. But his hand, firm on her shoulder, gentle, is caressing her back to the present. 

“I will speak to Jon about fetching her mother. The girl needs her mother.” 

The pressure of his fingers, his thumb striking her skin, and then he was walking away. 

_ Stay with me.  _

Sansa had fallen. She remembered now.

Sansa had fallen, and Brienne had gone after her not knowing what she might find on the rocks. And then looking up, she had found Jaime, his eyes meeting hers as if nothing between that first night dancing in his arms until now had altered between them. As if he was still hers. As if she had never mistrusted him.

_ He trusts me. _

Jaime paused at the hearth, drew something from his pocket and threw it into the fire before moving quickly out of the room again. 

She gripped the seat beneath her and watched him go, “Jaime” falling silently from her lips. 


	13. Chapter 13

Brienne had looked so tired in both body and mind. All he wanted to do was ease her burden but he was not entirely sure what she would appreciate. Her own stubbornness and pride often kept her from reaching out for help but it was her competence that made it so everyone assumed she never really needed any. Yet he wanted to comfort her just the same.

The good maester Tarly was examining Sansa in the bedchamber. Jon paced the room and spoke to Tyrion, trying to soothe his thoughts and determine what must be done. Brienne, he knew, was down the hall in the sitting room comforting Arya who had not yet recovered from the shock of thinking her sister had done herself a grave injury.

As his thoughts oscillated between guilt over how he might have prevented all of this from coming to pass, and his concerns for everyone involved, he saw Arya enter the room. This could only mean that Brienne was now in the other part of the house all alone. Jaime felt compelled to go to her, to be by her side.

When he walked in Brienne was on a chair awkwardly placed, staring absently at a bookshelf across the room from her. But upon approach he was able to inspect her face more closely and saw that her gaze was unseeing of anything around her, that she was lost inside of herself. He had witnessed shock in enough sailor’s faces, and felt it in himself enough times, to know that expression and sensation well.

He tried calling her name but she was unhearing. He crouched down to place himself right in her line of vision, hoping to make contact somehow and bring her back to the waking world again. If necessary he would dive into her eyes and find her, fight off her demons, and lend her all of his strength, until she felt safe enough to return to the realm of conscious thought, to speak and hear once more, to be with him where he needed her.

_ Brienne. Come back to me, my love. I am here. Come back. _

“Brienne…Brienne…”

Finally, she registered the sound of his voice and her gaze rose so that her beautiful eyes locked with his. He felt a shiver run down his spine as recognition flickered in them and her pupils widened. The haze lifted and he was lost in the warmth of that sapphire-colored sea.

“Brienne, I am here. It is all going to be well. Sansa is being examined by the doctor and he believes that soon enough she should recover.” She continued to stare into his eyes, searching them for answers to questions he dared not believe she would ask.

“Brienne, please, say something.”

Jaime recognized that she was still struggling to think clearly and find the words she needed, searching for some anchor, some rosetta stone of understanding. He sought to ground her, to spread life’s blood from his fingertips into her shoulder, so that she may feel once again what was real, that he was real and here by her side, as he wished to always be. Gently, he pressed his hand onto her shoulder and squeezed the flesh and bones beneath them. Warmth, and a tingle he had only ever felt when he touched  _ her _ , spread up his arm. Squeezing a little more firmly, he could finally feel her respond to his touch. If she felt his hand, perhaps she could hear his words now too. What words could he utter to bring her comfort? What could he say to ease her burden?

“I will speak to Jon about fetching her mother. The girl needs her mother.” Brienne nodded almost imperceptibly.

He dragged his thumb along her collarbone and willed himself to stop touching her. Moving his hand away slowly, he stood. He had a duty to perform. Brienne would be counting on him to make sure the girl was well taken care of and that everything was arranged to maximize her recovery efforts. She needed him and he would do this for her, to convey some of his affections in the only way that the current situation allowed.

_ Brienne needs me. She loved and wanted me once. She may still. _

His hand went into his pocket as it always did when he thought of her. The poem burned in his hand, a scalding and regrettable reminder of the falsehood, the deceptions and misperceptions that had been allowed to come between them, to break both of their hearts but not their spirits, not their love.

_ I will do this for you Brienne. I will do this and so much more. _

She needed him. He loved her.

Balling the poem up with his left fist, he threw it into the fire as he passed. 

* * *

When Jaime walked back into the room, it was apparent that Jon had been relaying his thoughts to Tyrion at length. Tyrion was still patiently trying to help him weigh all of the various options and offering polite suggestions. It appeared they had gone back and forth about some matter of great import for quite some time. Seeking to draw the increasingly loud discussion out of the sick room, he managed to navigate the group into the kitchen where Jon sat, miserable, listening to Tyrion and Jaime’s reprisals. 

The maester put away his tools and left the girl sleeping soundly, then followed the sounds of their discussion into the kitchen. He approached and patted Jaime, whose guilt must have been written all over his face, on the arm and stated, “Make sure she gets enough rest. I will return tomorrow to see how she progresses.” The maester looked over Jaime’s shoulder at someone standing behind him. “She has opened her eyes, just the once, but it is a good sign.”

Brienne stepped further into the room once Maester Tarly had quit it and stood silently at his side, deep in thought. 

“I am her cousin. I need to be here to care for her until her mother arrives.” Jon was gesticulating forcefully and seemed determined to stay despite Tyrion’s advice. 

It was not a terrible plan but Brienne would most assuredly want to be the one to stay and look after the girl herself, at least until Catelyn was present to take over. She was the most capable of anyone in the home and could do far better good at Sansa’s side than Jon. Selfishly, he also wanted her to stay so that he may see her when he returned with Catelyn. If Brienne went back with Arya now, she would have to stay with her in Winterfell, and he may not see her again before she left for Harrenhal. 

“I think Brienne should stay with Sansa. If Brienne will stay, no one so capable as Brienne could nurse her. Jon, you must see that she is the most suitable nurse for your cousin.” 

Jaime looked up and into her eyes beseeching her to consider his offer. “You will stay? Stay and nurse her?” he asked her gently for he did not want it to be a command but a plea, a hope, a wish.

_ Please say you will stay.  _

Brienne nodded her consent and Jaime breathed a sigh of relief. However, Jon would not be swayed and insisted that he be the one to stay behind. Thus, it was determined, against everyone’s wishes save Jon’s, that Brienne would accompany Arya back to Winterfell as Jaime drove Tyrion’s smallest but fastest carriage. Catelyn would return with him to Maidenpool and Brienne would stay to watch over Bran and Arya at their home. 

* * *

She tried to recall the last time she had heard him speak her name before today. She could not recall it from the day before, or from his time at Winterfell, which means it had to have been when they parted. 

No, that was an unfair revision of her mind. They had not parted, she had dismissed him. He had gone away from Casterly Rock for a few days, some matter with his father and sister taking him away but only shortly, and on parting he had promised his return. He had pressed her hands with his, and with his lips. Then, holding her hands to his heart, he hooked a finger of the other hand - the hand that was gone now - beneath her chin and brushed the pad of his thumb just at the edge of her lip, a promise, an oath to return and claim her and those lips for his own, for the rest of their lives. 

Those few days were all it had taken for Brienne’s mind to be poisoned against him. How disloyal had she been, how cruel, how unfeeling. He returned with all the earnestness he had shown nearly every day for above a month; he came back speaking her name as if it were the only succor he needed. And she had dashed his hopes in an instant, had disregarded him as she would an ant crossing a table. On remembrance she felt ill, her stomach threatening to give up its contents. She found her feet and pushed open the kitchen door in search of water, only to have the maester speak Sansa’s condition to her over Jaime’s shoulder, and then to hear Jaime’s treasured voice speak her name again, arguing with Jon.

“...if Brienne will stay, no one so capable as Brienne--”

_ Oh I do not deserve this. I do not deserve his praise. _

He looked straight at her then. 

_ Oh. _

“You will stay? Stay and nurse her?” He spoke with a glow, and yet a gentleness, which seemed almost restoring the past. 

_ I do not deserve those eyes on me, not for an instant. And yet this was his look on the beach. He understood me perfectly. He cleared a path for me, supported me with his action. If this is the form which our friendship is to take, I will hold fast to it.  _

She agreed. But while Arya had acknowledged that she could do no good, and that being present would only inconvenience the Lannisters more than necessary, Jon was not of the same mind. He knew that Catelyn must be sent for, but as to leaving his cousin in such a state, he neither ought, nor would. He was so wretched and so vehement, complained so much of injustice in being expected to go away, instead of Brienne--Brienne who was nothing to Sansa while he was her cousin, and had the best right to stay in Arya’s stead. 

Sansa had once opened her eyes, but soon closed them again, without apparent consciousness. It was proof of life enough for Arya to resume some level of calm once the maester assessed it as positive, but her cousin would not be moved. And so Brienne would go with Arya, and with Jaime. Perhaps by the time they reached Winterfell some of this guilt might be abated. 

Jaime assisted Arya up into the carriage, and then Brienne, his palm warm against hers. Jaime was the last to climb onto the bench and although all hope and determination to speak to him on the subject of their selves that day had flown when Sansa had fallen, the fact that he could press his body so close to hers, lined up from shoulder to knee without flinching or shying from her was a great comfort. They were nearly at the midpoint between Maidenpool and Winterfell, with daylight giving way to night, when she bent her head and fell asleep feeling halfway to redemption.


	14. Chapter 14

She was at sea again. 

The rocking had resumed, but this time she can’t smell the bay. 

Everything is earthier here, as if she is sailing along a river. Yet rivers would not be so choppy. And wherever she is, it feels warmer than being on the water. Jaime’s scent is here too, salt and wool and citron blended together, the smell of sweat and horses lying just beneath. 

The sun is beating down on them, and she is beating against his sword with her own, driving him back. He will leave tomorrow to see his father and sister, but she desperately does not wish him to go. 

“I’ll return, wench.”

“Why?”

“What do you mean? You know why.” Her question having served its purpose, she knocks the sword from his hand and sweeps his leg, dropping him to the grass, and falls to straddle his knees and hold the sword to his neck. 

“Yield. I would not have you go.”

His eyes were blazing into her. His body felt warm beneath her. “I will yield. And yet I must go.”

She drops the sword to the ground. 

_ No, please.  _

“What is it, wench?”

_ I have to tell him.  _

“I am too easily persuaded. Jaime. I’ve made this mistake before. Do not go, else heartbreak will be here when you return...” She felt tears well in her eyes, blurring him.

He pushes himself up on his arms. “Brienne there is nothing you could do which would turn me from you.” 

She thinks she might weep, but the tears do not move. “You’re wrong. I’ve lived it already. You do turn from me.”

He reaches forward to touch her shoulder, just the way he’d touched it at his brother’s house. His thumb stroking the skin at her collarbone, sending a shiver through her body. Without warning, he flips her so that his arm is about her, but he rests between her thighs, and she gasps. “I will turn back to you, Brienne. I swear it.” 

Brienne moves her mouth to respond, but her lips drag on the heavy material of his coat...

She awoke to find herself against Jaime, her face pressed to his coat, his arm around her. He was fixing the flannel blanket across her shoulders, maneuvering as best he could with his wrist. She colored deeply at the sight of a gentle smile teasing the corners of his mouth - the flicker of a promise that she could not but help return.

* * *

The only pleasant thought about her upcoming departure was that Brienne would be seated at his side for the duration of the ride. The bench was deep but narrow and only three persons could naturally fit with any level of comfort, but given that two of those persons were of considerable height and had shoulders of substantial width, it would be an intimate affair. He hated to part with her, especially not knowing when he would be able to lay eyes on her again, but if he must, then this was most assuredly the sweetest way. 

Holding his left hand up, he assisted Miss Arya into the carriage first. Then, he held it out for Brienne to take and much to his surprise, she did not appear to hesitate in using it to maintain balance as she shifted her skirts and pulled herself up into the conveyance with her other hand. Once more, he could sense how weary she was in the way she allowed most of her weight to rest on him while trying to hoist herself into the seat. It was also apparent when she finally fell onto the bench with a heavy thump. Brienne kept her eyes trained on the hands that lay on her lap, holding the blanket around her body like a shroud as he slid his body onto the bench next to her, acutely aware of how his hip pressed into hers. And then, how their shoulders collided when he pulled on the reigns to get the horses moving. Instead of making some space between them, as anyone with more self-control would have done, he shifted closer, so that his entire right arm was now resting pleasantly against hers. It did not escape his notice that Brienne neither flinched nor made any attempt to move away from him. 

After some time they both seemed to become accustomed to the warmth their bodies created, and, with only a few layers of fabric between them to maintain a semblance of propriety, he felt her sway in her seat and angle towards him. As her body became gradually more relaxed and sank into slumber, she languidly melted into him. When her head began to bob, he shifted his arm behind hers slightly and she was able to move in even closer. The feel of her all along his right side was deliciously sweet and it was a mental struggle not to give in to his urge to wrap that arm around her waist and press his head soundly against hers. At that moment, as if she could know his thoughts, her head slipped onto his shoulder and rested there. He ventured a glance to see that, as she slept and tucked herself into him, there was a faint smile on her lips. Warmth spread throughout his chest and radiated down his body in waves. 

Jaime thought he felt something tugging at his side and he looked down to see that Brienne had buried a hand under his coat, mistaking it for the blanket. The feel of her knuckles brushing against his waist as she twisted the fabric of his coat from the inside sent spools of heat into his belly and he felt himself begin to harden as he fantasized about her hands touching his bare skin there. She sighed and nuzzled in closer, pressing her mouth onto his shoulder unconsciously. He could feel her breath along his neck as she shifted her head further up his shoulder, causing her nose to graze his coat collar. Jaime studiously focused his attention on driving the carriage, which was already not easily done with only one hand, knowing no one would appreciate him driving them off the road because he had indulged in untoward fantasies and carnal uprisings of his flesh at the slightest of innocent touches, while all the while being charged with delivering them safely to their destination. 

As he sought to gain control over himself, Jaime noticed that Brienne’s blanket had fallen open and was sliding off the shoulder that was not pressed firmly against his. Arya had also fallen asleep but she had slid down along the bench, head resting against the back of it, exposing Brienne to the wind on that side of her body and he did not like the idea of her being cold and uncomfortable. He thought he felt her shiver against him, which set his mind on his next course of action. 

He focused what attention he could to sliding his right arm under her blanket and up her back so that he could pull the fabric, albeit awkwardly, back onto her right shoulder. For a few glorious moments he held her in an embrace and his head did indeed touch hers, just as he had warned himself not to do earlier in the evening. Jaime breathed her in, honeysuckle and woodsmoke wafting from her hair which was nearly silver in the moonlight. She stirred and her mouth turned up from his shoulder, coming tantalizingly close to his, before he had the presence of mind to move back. She opened her eyes just as his wrist caressed her back and came to nestle between them once more. This time he was certain that her eyes searched his for answers he wanted desperately to provide but knew not where to begin. 

_ Do you desire me Brienne? Do you feel how much I want to kiss you? The gods surely do. _

The look in her eyes, so trusting and sweet, warmed his heart and reminded him of her innocence. He must not ruin their tenuously formed friendship with his unrestrained affections. He may be ready to love her body and soul but she was still a maiden with a maiden’s heart. The passion that coursed through his veins would most definitely frighten her and not be welcome at a time when she was consumed with worry for her beloved friends. Smiling at her as gently as he could, he turned back to his task, careful not to pull away from her body as he gripped the reigns and turned the horses past the last bend in the road towards Winterfell.

* * *

Brienne roused Arya just as they rode through the gates. As soon as the carriage rolled to a standstill, Arya began to shout for her mother. Moving as quickly as possible one-handed, he jumped down, and assisted them in their descent. Arya ran directly into the house, without so much as a parting word, leaving Jaime standing beside Brienne with his hand still hovering on the small of her back, urging her to go but knowing that he should not be so free with her person. Yet, he could not bring himself to sever their proximity so quickly. 

Brienne must not have realized how closely she was standing to him when she spun back around to beg him keep watch over Sansa. She was holding her valise with her right hand as it hung heavily at her side, and when she turned to him, his hand moved from her back to her waist. Brienne’s left hand stopped just short of touching his chest in an attempt to catch herself. 

“Captain,” she said slowly looking at where her hand almost rested, hovering just above his heart, before she raised her eyes the final fraction to meet his, “please make sure that she is alright.” She sounded a little breathless and his heart clenched thinking about how frightened, how concerned she must be for her friends. 

He nodded, taking on the heavy responsibility of caring after people she held most dear. Then, maintaining eye contact, Brienne very deliberately closed the distance of a few millimeters between her hand and his chest. He felt the warmth of her hand spread into the spot where it stirred his wildly beating heart beneath, as if with each resounding beat his heart was straining to rise high enough to break free and meet it. Brienne took a deep breath and closed her eyes.

"Gods keep you, Jaime," she whispered. Then, she turned from him and in a few long strides was gone inside the confines of the house. 

_ She touched me. She cares for me. She may not love me but I know some part of her cares for me. I saw it. I felt it. That is enough. That is more than enough. _

Catelyn’s piercing scream echoed throughout the house, distracting him from his thoughts and reminding him of the task at hand. Mere minutes later, Catelyn rushed out of the front door with a small bag and shawl, ready to make haste and depart for Maidenpool, where she intended to provide her eldest daughter with succor. Jaime hesitated a moment, hoping to see Brienne one last time before his departure, but she did not appear.

The return ride to Maidenpool was cold and dark, with only Catelyn’s steady flow of tears to accompany them, and her occasional sobs to break the silence. After some time, she was able to mumble a few words of thanks for all of his assistance that day and he offered her reassurances that the maester himself had provided. Exhaustion threatened to overtake him as he felt his grip slacken from time to time on the reins. To ensure their safety he wrapped the reins around one of his thighs before gripping them firmly again with his hand. 

He occupied his mind counting sign posts and trees. He tried hard not to think of the way Brienne had looked - finally - into his eyes and pressed her hand almost possessively over his heart. He tried not to think of it, for he did not want to imbue the exchange with his own sentiments, with his own hopes and desires. Perhaps what he had interpreted as longing was merely gratitude and her affections were driven more by friendship than by desire. And perhaps, he corrected himself, he was allowing his insecurities to cloud his judgment as it once had all those years ago. No, he would not make that mistake again. He would discover how deeply her feelings for him ran, and in what direction, if he had to grab ahold of the sail and gauge the course of the wind with his own hand. 

They reached his brother’s door just before dawn. Tyrion greeted them with good tidings: Sansa had been awake for a few hours that evening and Captain Payne had read to her before she fell into another deep slumber. Catelyn rushed to her daughter’s side and banished everyone else from the room as she attended to her. Jon stumbled out looking like he might fall asleep on his feet. Thus Jaime, feeling as tired as Jon looked, encouraged him to return to the inn with him so that they might both get a few hours of sleep.

* * *

They returned midday feeling somewhat more refreshed and looked upon faces a little less etched in concern. Tyrion reported that the maester had visited again and was feeling even more confident that Miss Stark would, after some days, make a full recovery. Catelyn and Tysha had attended to Sansa’s early morning needs and now Captain Payne was reading to her once again from his book of poetry. 

While the others were all occupied, Tyrion led Jaime into his study and, once the door was closed, inquired, “Do you have an understanding with Miss Stark?”

Jaime blanched, “Pardon?”

“At any point did you hint at there being any sort of understanding between you and Miss Sansa Stark? Does she have any reason to believe you would want to enter into an engagement with her?” Tyrion was looking at him with that piercing look he only used when trying to decipher the contents of his most difficult cases.

“Not in so many words. No. I do not believe anyone can accuse me of making any promises.” Jaime shied away from saying more.

“But, you have entangled yourself strongly enough with the girl and her family to inflame their hopes, have you not? They know you seek to make a match and are aspiring to relieve you of that burden as soon as possible, do I have the right of that?” Tyrion spoke with the frankness of someone who knew how little Jaime enjoyed subterfuge. 

“Yes, I believe I may have encouraged those impressions early on in our acquaintance. If the girl were to believe herself engaged to me I could not deny it without bringing her and myself shame. Oh gods, what have I done? Tyrion, how do I disentangle myself? You know where my affections lie. You know that this girl could never make me happy, nor I her. What do you suggest I do, brother? Please, advise me.” Jaime was gripped by a fear that life would once again seek to intercept his plans, and would dash all of his hopes for happiness now that they had newly emerged from the ashes of his scorched heart.

“Stay only as long as you must,” Tyrion replied, his voice low and conspiratorial, “A day or two more only. Then, make your excuses and leave on…business…and do not come back. Travel to all of Casterly’s properties to make inquiries regarding the irregularities you mentioned in the estate’s holdings. Busy yourself and no one will fault you on that end. Make yourself a stranger until the girl has no hope of your return and moves on. She is young and beautiful. She will have no scarcity of suitors. Our young captain Payne seems to have taken an interest in her already. Captivity and poetry may favor his chances. Then, when you deem it appropriate, pursue your lady. I understand she leaves for Harrenhal soon. That would be the perfect place to reacquaint yourself with her properly, away from the Stark family.” Tyrion poured them each a glass of sherry from the decanter beside his desk.

“Thank you, this is very good advice. I will leave day after tomorrow if the girl’s health continues to improve. Then, I will begin my business ventures, which should take me a little over a fortnight to complete. Perchance, I may even actually be of some use to father and our estate.” Jaime drank deeply from his glass to wash down his anxieties, the sweetness of the drink overpowering all senses of dread. Tyrion refilled the glass for him. 

“Excellent, I will be sending word shortly to Miss Tarth that all is well. Would you like to write to her yourself?” Tyrion raised a questioning brow.

Jaime shook his head. “I do not want to presume myself to being on better terms with the lady than I truly am. She will not appreciate a breach in propriety. We have not said more than a handful of words to one another in a sennight’s time. How could I possibly presume to know her mind well enough to write her a letter of any kind? No, I will find a way to gain her friendship in person, in earnest, and if I play my cards right, I may persuade her to allow me to be more someday.” 

Tyrion raised his glass, “To friendship and the hope for more!” to which Jaime responded by clinking his glass resoundingly. 


	15. Chapter 15

On their return to Winterfell, there’d been a letter from Margaery Tyrell awaiting her. The Tyrells were now settled with their grandmother in Harrenhal, in Kingspyre Place, a little removed from the Middle Ward, but with a view of the beautiful Gods Eye Lake which fed the aqueducts of the city. And though Loras had made many friends in town already, Margaery was rather missing that “sisterly bond” which she and Brienne had “always shared.” Brienne took this to mean that Olenna had not been willing to be much in company yet and, as the season approached, Margaery demanded either an escort for herself or a more constant companion for the older woman. 

Perhaps Loras had made friends but had yet to introduce them to his family’s society. Or perhaps Margaery had already tired of their tedium. In either case, Brienne was wanted, and soon. She sent a response post-haste to advise the family of her delay and the reasoning behind it, though she did not mention the one name which might have sparked an interest with the party, for she was fearful of Olenna’s judgement, and yet uncertain of how to proceed. 

Brienne postponed her journey for as long as she could - an additional sennight. She hoped every day that more news would come from Maidenpool. They’d received one note from Tyrion Lannister, sent express a day after their return, to let them know that Sansa was remaining awake for several hours and was mending with her mother there. The hand was unknown to Brienne, but the name which her finger traced across the bottom of course was not. 

More present than any other hope was the one which would have Jaime bring more news himself, and have him wrap her in his arms again with promises she could only barely conjure. The crisis was all that had kept Brienne from melting into him when she’d turned and found him so close in the courtyard. In that moment, she had been certain that he would have allowed it; had she shown the fervency of her feeling to him, he might have dragged her into his embrace and claimed the debt which time owed. Even after entering the house and setting things in motion for Catelyn’s departure, she was sure, recollecting his hand on her shoulder. And upon lying down to finally sleep that night, and some nights after, she was sure, calling to mind the smile that crossed his face when she woke, tucked beside him, a hand gripping him to her with his own across her back. 

But in sleep all of her doubts and misgivings would eventually creep in and lay waste to the garden of hope she had cultivated in daylight.

Perhaps his kindness had not been for her, but for Arya’s sake. Perhaps his gentle affection had been borne not out of any rekindling of their aborted love, but out of gratitude for her actions, for carrying Sansa to safety when no one else was capable. That was, after all, what he had called her. Capable, not essential, not honorable. Capable. 

And so the days passed with no more information, and no more reassurances to Brienne’s heart. On departing, she summoned the elderly midwife from Wintertown to come and stay at the manor in her absence. Old Nan hadn’t worked as a midwife since before even Robb had been born, but she was a reliable comfort for the village, and had often filled Bran’s head with old stories, much to either his delight or annoyance, whether he was at that time giving mind to old times, or to the present. Arya, walking Brienne to the carriage accompanied by her intended, promised to send word ahead as soon as more news was available, and Gendry promised to check in with the family daily until then. With these assurances only, and with her own promise to see Catelyn and Bran in town in the Spring, Brienne left her hopes behind for Harrenhal.

* * *

Lady Olenna had taken a very good house in Kingspyre Place, a lofty, dignified situation such as becomes a woman of consequence. The scale of it caused Brienne some surprise, but as it was indeed removed from the town center she thought perhaps that some small deal had been brokered for the fees. Brienne entered the place with a sinking heart, anticipating an imprisonment of many months, and anxiously wondering whether she might indeed ever leave those walls again. A degree of warm cordiality in her welcome, however, warmer than she expected from either the Lady or her charges, did her good. The Tyrell siblings seemed verily glad to see her and met her with kindness. Her making a fourth when they sat down to dinner was noticed as an advantage. 

Margaery and Loras had the pleasure of assuring her that Harrenhal more than answered their expectations in every respect. Their house was undoubtedly the best in Kingspyre Place, there were ample social events and activities to explore from literary society and music associations to the medicinal spas (which Margaery recommended at every turn) and sparring clubs, and their acquaintance was exceedingly sought after. Everybody was wanting to visit them and although Loras had taken to returning some calls and finding occupation away from the home, the women had found themselves drawing back from many introductions, and still were perpetually having cards left by people of whom they knew nothing. 

When Brienne thought to question the quality of their lodging in comparison to what she had understood their income to be in town, Olenna had laughed, “Oh my dear child, the moment my excellent husband fell ill that first time, we began hiding money away. I expect Tywin will not have been too happy when he arrived and found that we’d not kept up all the property and let some of the homes go vacant. No taxes without tenants, Brienne! Oh I expect he’ll spend the next year or so - him and that son of his - trying to sort out what went wrong.”

She could see that Olenna felt no shame in her actions nor no degradation in her change of circumstances, no regret or dissatisfaction though she had gone from being mistress of Casterly Rock to finding extent to be proud of between two walls, perhaps thirty feet asunder. She clearly had found great pleasure in cheating her good-brother, and that fact by itself would allow her to thrive for many years yet. For this reason, Brienne continued to keep her recent reacquaintance with Jamie to herself. 

But it was not only their lodging and situation which they had to make them happy. They had Mr. Hunt, too. Brienne had a great deal to hear of Mr. Hunt. He had befriended Loras at some club or another on the man’s first day in town and Mr. Hunt had that same day accompanied Loras home to make the acquaintance of the ladies as well. He had arrived in Harrenhal just a few days before Brienne but already he had established a good understanding with the family, and had taken supper with them twice even though he was residing in a rather fashionable bohemian end of town. Mr. Hunt and his friends in Visenya’s Buildings were talked of the whole evening. Brienne was considering, near two hours before midnight, whether she should take herself and her quieter thoughts to her room when a knock at the door suspended everything. The door was opened by a footman, and Mr. Hyle Hunt himself was ushered into the room. 

He wore an objectively pleasant demeanor. He was of an age with Loras and, though middling in height somewhere between Margaery’s petite presence and Brienne’s towering one, he carried himself with the air of a man even taller than she. His brown eyes and hair were fair enough, the latter a mass of orderly curls, and his countenance though somewhat squared and harsh at rest, improved by speaking; his manners were so exactly what they ought to be for a single man of his age, and so particularly agreeable, that she could compare them in excellence to only one other person’s. They were not the same - they could never be the same, but they were, perhaps, equally good in some respect.

After introductions were made, he began immediately to talk to Brienne of Maidenpool. Brienne could not hide her shock at his mention of the events there, when he explained that he had been there on the beach where the incident had happened, and that he had immediately recognized her on entering this room. He regretted that he had not stepped in to help, but felt that he and his friend Mr. Connington had been too far away to have done any good. She could not recollect the presence of anyone from that time save for herself and her cargo, and Jaime, but she listened all the same as he described to Olenna and the Tyrells the “magnificence” of her appearance over the rocks carrying the injured girl, and marveled with them at her strength. 

Brienne had not been prepared for such admiration and found herself coloring when he recounted the scene. He seemed keenly interested in the results of the incident and asked after the girl’s health, but did not stop before also asking after herself and how she was faring, showing a degree of polite concern for what she must have suffered in both witnessing the incident and being employed in rectifying it. 

He stayed an hour with them. The elegant little clock on the mantlepiece had struck eleven with its silver sounds and the watchman was beginning to be heard at a distance telling the same tale before Mr. Hunt or any of them seemed to feel that he had been there long. Brienne could not have supposed it possible that her first evening in Harrenhal could have passed so well and, for the first time in weeks, she slept dreamlessly.

* * *

She’d passed more than ten days in town, accompanying Margaery on her outings, playing at cards with Loras, and reading much through the entertainment of the occasional guest before the letter from Arya arrived: Sansa had, as of the date of the letter of five days before, been well enough to travel and had finally come home. There was little mention of anything or anyone else. The relief which Brienne felt at this news was satisfactory though not overwhelming. The only thing she had felt sure of in the last month had been that Sansa was young and healthy enough to inspire anything from the banishment of illness, to love from an ill-used heart. 

The owner of that heart had remained in her thoughts daily, though occupation with her cousins and visitors - more often Mr. Hunt than not - had helped drive thoughts of him away with more casual ease than she found comforting. Yet when she was ever again alone, there they were to greet her, those remnants rising once more to the surface like treasures from the deep tossed back to her shore. Her hopes for the reprisal of his affections had had so brief an existence that she thought their persistence strange. She told herself that if ever she saw him again it would likely be at Sansa’s side, a loyal husband to a bright and energetic young woman, as he always should have been. She told herself that his friendship was enough, that she would require no more from him, that she would love him still but that these feelings of emptiness in his absence would eventually abate. 

But three days later, another letter arrived - this one from Catelyn. The Starks were due to arrive at Harrenhal in a few days, an unexpected pleasure for Brienne when normally they would not venture south of Winterfell until the spring. The reason for their visit was simple - both Arya and Sansa were to be wed sooner than originally expected, and Catelyn sought to find them fashionable wedding clothes. Catelyn had not made mention of the name of either groom (though she phrased it as “Sansa and the Captain” in one particular passage, for that information should have been obvious. Brienne put the letter away when she found that her inevitable tears were obfuscating the words, and went to relay news of their friends’ impending arrival to the Tyrells and Lady Olenna with her eyes as dry as they’d been prior to the letter, though perhaps more agitated. That night she did dream, and the joy which she had found in sleep overwhelmed and tortured her throughout the following day.

Mr. Hunt continued to be very attentive to her and, on more than one occasion, Margaery had wondered aloud whether Brienne might wish to spend more time with their new acquaintance. The words may have felt teasing, but her cousin seemed in earnest. To herself, Brienne admitted that she was flattered by Mr. Hunt and his appreciation of her capabilities, even if that appreciation was presented with objective marvel and not one of subjective affection. To her cousin she admitted nothing. But the hours with the newcomer were amiable enough at the least. As a group they might discuss everything from the latest fashion in cravats (Loras was torn as to the best course in this); to swordplay (Hunt was amazed to hear that Brienne was interested in this and mentioned that he had just introduced Loras at the club he himself belonged to - called The Bear Pit after the famed landmark that had once stood at that spot - though he made no further mention of interest in seeing her display her acumen); to music (which roused Olenna to the conversation with talk of and plans for concerts upcoming at the Hall of the Hundred Hearths). 

After one such visit wherein they argued companionably their opinions on art and literature, not three days after receiving word of Catelyn’s plans, Brienne found herself feeling a little lighter than before. She felt more comfortable in her own skin in a way that she believed she’d not felt in a very long time. She told herself that these conversations with Hyle had made her feel understood and also eager to understand. She told herself that she liked him; she found little more than manners to appreciate in his addresses and even less to admire in his person, for his stature never rose to the height of his opinions, and his character was painted in the most primary of colors; and yet she thought he made her feel present and necessary where both the Tyrells and the Starks often made her to feel incidental. 

And yes, if Margaery had asked under the right circumstances, she might have answered that she might like to spend even more time with him, almost purely for the selfish reasons of her limited ego. He was not so pleasing to look on as others of her acquaintance, and he would never invoke the passions that one other, whom she now could not have, certainly would, but having been shot to the highest altitudes of happiness and then sunk to the lowest depths of despair, all by that one all-consuming passion then perhaps Hyle’s friendship if elevated to companionship, she told herself, could make a less demanding substitute than either true passion, or the course of remaining unwed and undervalued at home.

* * *

Thinking to pursue a more accessible avenue of contentedness, Brienne found herself taking Margaery’s advice and securing a private pool in the bowels of the Wildfire Spa in the city’s center. She went in the evening when most patrons would have gone, and when she would be freest from the interested eyes of persons who had never seen a woman of her build, let alone one in only a robe that barely cinched at the middle of her thick waist. 

She thought that, as Margaery had advertised, the bath might make her feel reborn in a way, that she might be able to somehow wash away the more persistent thoughts of the only man she’d ever loved - and would ever truly love - from her skin and hair, and bury them as if at sea, making way for more appropriate expectations of her future wherein she might be at least at peace if not ever happy. She exchanged her clothing with a robe for the few steps from the changing stall to the bath and then, in the privacy of the bath chamber, she placed the robe next to the pool and lowered herself into the steaming water. 

And though she sought to control the onslaught of imagery as she stepped in, the warmth of the water hitting her skin reminded her instantly of driving from Maidenpool to Winterfell, pressed against his side, her hand clutching his coat and his arm around her back. The quiet soothing of the chamber’s buffering fog made her, when she closed her eyes, remember the dream of him rolling her on the ground and resting his hips in the cradle of her thighs. She had dreamt of many things until that drive with him, her subconscious had, she thought, already painted all the ways she might be kissed or embraced, or affections whispered into her ear, but never before had she dreamt so vividly, or with such assurance in the truth of it, such an intimate embrace. 

She now sought desperately to drag that dream into her control, to put its false reality behind her, and assure herself that she was mistress of her thoughts. In doing so, she could be assured that her passions would be checked; by forcing the imagination of it in the day she might suppress it from her unconscious and remove the desire for it from her dreams, and allow herself a life less demanding. 

_ And yet. _

Before she even thought to reach for the herbal soap placed at the edge of the pool, her long slender fingers were lazily tracing the inside of her thighs below the surface. The slow, ambling, constant drip, drip, drip of a distant faucet echoing against the damp walls was like a discordant metronome guiding the beat of her movements. She dipped her hand lower to find the slick, already-swollen center of her pleasure and pictured him as she had last seen him: a full day’s bristling growth on his jaw, the soft golden waves of his hair carelessly tossed by the wind after racing north.

She recalled how in the darkened courtyard his hand had rested on her waist, the electric burn of it, the feeling of his heart pounding drip, drip, drip beneath her own hand when she completed the circuit at his chest. She imagined him dragging his other wrist up the length of her thigh to the other side of her waist too, the valise falling from her hand as he pulled her toward him firmly and mouthed her throat, the stubble of his cheek scraping the skin over her pulse, her naked breasts brushing against his coat, her nipples tightening as if straining to close the distance between them and revel in its coarse friction. 

_ Jaime. _

Her pulse was amplified at her center as she brushed the fingers of her other hand roughly against one of those taut nipples, alternately rising above and dipping below the surface of the water with each breath, panting, feeling the need to spread her hips wider as she traced her sex.

_ Oh, Jaime. _

The side of the tub was the carriage wall at her back and the watery seat its bench; he drives her back roughly and sinks his mouth to her collarbone, grazing with his teeth and then suckling there until bruises threaten to bloom against his lips, and lowering his hand to join hers where her pulse beats deepest, where he belongs.

_ Deeper. Mine. _

She feels him, his fingers molding over hers, slipping inside, guiding her to transcendence, throbbing drip, drip drip. 

_ My love. _

His hips are pressed between her thighs, grinding against her, a hand gripping her muscled leg and dragging her beneath his weight; his empty wrist guides her mouth to crash against his; her hands tangle in his hair, anchoring him against her, their bodies thrusting against one another frantic, mindless, determined, drip, drip, drip. 

_ Here he is mine, only mine. My love. Jaime. Please. I love you. I love you. I love you. _   
  
His vivid meadow-green eyes bore into hers, as his body does, and will her to her crescendo. Her back arched violently, desire pouring from her so forcefully she thought the pool might overflow, his name falling from her lips in an untamed scream, “Jaime” echoing across the chamber and bouncing back to her ears, turning her wildly shuddering body crimson and making her sink herself lower in the water until the rippling molten sensation in her belly had ebbed and she could rely on her mouth not to cry out for him again.

When she righted herself, the waters of the pool were still agitated, breaking against her flushed skin. She felt emptied, delivered of her desires, but once again mistress of herself. She told herself that, so long as she had this and could control these emotions, no other man would need ever inspire such passion, for here beneath the waves of reality she had all the love and passion that she required. Reality need not bear the weight of her wishes. No watery dream would take precedence over the virtue of reality, and no encounter with the subject of these fantasies would threaten her resolve. She might confidently keep these memories locked away, safe from prying hands and prying eyes, preserved in a world of her own construction and her own private doing, hidden away and relegated to secrecy. She told herself that this space would be henceforth exempt from the wandering of dreams. 


	16. Chapter 16

It was truly an inconvenience to be so irrevocably absentminded, but Jaime’s thoughts had been understandably occupied as of late. 

Having quit Maidenpool to distance himself from the assumptions that he had been earnestly courting Miss Stark, and then spent much of the last fortnight in solitary travel and enquiry, his thoughts were a confluence of regrets and hope-filled aspirations. He lamented having let himself be so careless with the girl’s affections. How could he have ever entertained, even for a moment, the notion that he could form an attachment to someone so diametrically opposed to everything he found enticing in a companion? How could he have allowed others come near the understanding that they might be engaged? 

The only solution had been to distance himself from her as soon as it would be deemed correct and socially appropriate. According to Tyrion’s letter which awaited him on his arrival at Harrenhal, the girl was going home, and still in good hands, still under the care of a very attentive and now affianced Captain Payne. No one could justifiably fault Jaime for having left to attend to  _ other _ matters. The specifics of said business need not be anyone’s concern but his own. Only he knew that there was decidedly one thing that occupied his thoughts every waking moment now: Miss Brienne Tarth. So preoccupied had he been with his recollections of her at their last encounter that he had forgotten to collect his satchel from his assigned receptacle at the Wildfire Spa in the Middle Ward earlier that afternoon.

Jaime was running quite late to his appointment with Mr. Marbrand at The Bear Pit, and he was sure that no one would be occupying the baths at this late hour, so he hastened his steps, was permitted to the baths by the staff, and attempted to make quick work of finding the correct room. As he passed each pool he stopped to listen, and thus confirm, that indeed no one was occupying the tubs at this late hour. There was a faint residual echo somewhere, like a shout, but he assigned that in his mind to the conversation of the staff. 

The only fixed sound that could be heard now was that of an occasional drip of water in the distance, but the steam still rose thick from all of the tubs. He passed through the first few rooms rapidly, as he found his way to the end of the corridor, yet he could not recall on which side of the hall corridor he had been placed before. The sound of agitated water to his left alerted him to the fact that someone was indeed present, and in one of the chambers in question. After confirming that his belongings were not in the opposite room, he approached the entryway of the other hesitantly, but it was very difficult to ascertain what or who lay just beyond the wall of steam obscuring his vision. 

The curls of fog parted then just enough for him to see that someone with very light hair was lounging in the pool. A long, gracefully toned arm rose up out of the water to reach for the bar of soap, and long elegant fingers, brought it to a milky white neck, flushed in patches, and a strong shoulder. The figure was turned just enough away from him as to make it difficult for him to distinguish their facial features but he was certain that the person was a woman with long limbs and somewhat familiar movements. 

His breath hitched when the fog cleared again and his eyes and the response of his body confirmed who this very tall and entirely undressed woman undoubtedly was. 

_ I should not be here. I cannot impose on her privacy in this way. _

The steam obscured his vision once more, and he heard the sound of water sloshing and splashing about turbulently as she too shifted. The mist swirled above the surface of the water and settled like a blanket around her knees as she stood in profile. His gaze travelled up her long sinuously muscled legs, to the curve of her hip and the secret notch of her waist. He counted her ribs, and his breath caught in his throat when he reached the curve of a small but perfectly shaped breast. Drops of water clung to her skin and precariously to the tip of a rosy nipple.

Brienne was facing the wall to his left, and if she only turned her head she would surely see him, but he could not tear his eyes away from her long arms, as they smoothed the soap over her midsection and then dipped into the thatch of blonde hair at the apex of her thighs. He imagined how warm and wet her skin must feel, what it would be like to touch her there, to brush his fingers through that hair to her folds, to slip his fingers inside of her where she would be sleek and molten hot, and yielding. 

_ Wench... _

He felt a shudder as his desire raged through him. His throat went dry and the palm of his hand itched to touch her. It was this mad, almost unbearable desire to invade her space and then her person which brought him to his senses. He needed to leave this very instant, before he did something unforgivable, before she turned to see him there and knew that her virtue had been compromised.

As quickly and silently as he could, he gathered up all of his strength to turn his gaze away and back out of the entryway. He was vaguely aware of the fact that he was panting heavily, and that his heart was hammering in his ears, so distracted was he by the lengthening ache in his groin. He stumbled towards the opposite room, his trembling hands clawing at the cravat which circled his parched throat like a man dying of thirst. He couldn’t get the vision of her standing there, covered only in steam, out of his mind.

_ Oh gods, I want to touch her. I need to touch her. Mine. _

He moved into the changing stall, and willed himself to calm his impulses, but he could still hear the splashing of the water across the corridor; a wall of fog, the heavy air and the stall door were the only barriers between them. When he closed his eyes he could see her as clearly as if she were standing right in front of him in this tight space. Pressing his forehead against the wood paneling, he took a deep breath, and willed himself to think of anything else his mind could conjure, but it was to no avail.

_ Brienne. Oh, gods Brienne. _

He saw her slipping her slick, soapy hands over her body and imagined that one was his. What would all of those perfectly toned muscles, covered in soft skin, feel like under his touch? He had been familiar with the more prominent freckles of her exposed skin, but now he knew that they were strewn about her entire body like a galaxy of constellations. He imagined tracing them with his fingertips, and then his tongue, starting at the base of her throat, down her chest, along her hip, and down over her glorious thighs before inching closer to her…

He was impossibly hard now, and his hips reacted violently to his lurid thoughts. He knew that he had to take himself in hand quickly, before he spent freely in his pants like a young boy. He tore at the buttons and finally gripped himself firmly.

_ Brienne.  _

It was her hand that held him, slick and firm; he licked the water from her throat, and suckled on her breast, and lapped at the center of her pleasure, and then he was gripping those thighs tightly and buried inside as she gave herself over to him and screamed his name. 

A very few quick strokes brought his release on so strongly that he felt the muscles of his calves seize and his knees buckle under him. It had taken all of his strength to still the sounds of ecstasy in his throat, even as he painted his uncontrollable need for her across the wall. He braced himself on the door in an attempt to regain control. 

Jaime assessed the contents of his conscience but he could not muster up even an ounce of shame over what he had done here. There was no room for shame when every thought in his mind was directed towards the inexorable conclusion that he had to win her back. If there was a way, he had to find it. Brienne would be his or he would perish in the effort. 


	17. Chapter 17

The following morning, Brienne was sure that her efforts had been successful, for she had not dreamt of him, and she did not, on waking, think immediately of him; or so she told herself only moments after opening her eyes. 

The sky was a bright, clear, cloudless blue and the view of the changing leaves just beyond the rippling lake called to mind the chill of the day and coolness of her spirit. He would not invade her thoughts today. He would be kept at a distance from her heart. She would not be found coveting one who belonged to another. 

It was not like before when she had banished him and he had gone off to an unknown fate, and she might imagine him one day returning to her. Now his future was secure, and so she must be in her resolve. He would not come to her thoughts uninvited. 

The peace she felt could be described as excruciating. 

Olenna had situated herself near the hearth in the sitting room, away from the windows. She would not be stepping outside today but she was content to spend the day in solitude so long as the younger people left her to it, and in her current state of mind, Brienne was more than happy to take occupation over silence. Loras left shortly for his assignation at The Bear Pit, and Margaery and Brienne agreed to collect him at mid-day, and from thence go together to take luncheon at the Cafe Caraxes. 

The women left Olenna behind with an hour to spare and made their way to the Middle Ward. Margaery stopped to peruse the window of every shop in the fashion district, even those where she had no business, to comment on the excellent quality of the goods. And every window they encountered sliced deeper through Brienne’s exterior. 

At the glove-makers, piles of kid leather in various shades attracted their attention, and Margaery went on at length about the potential Harrenhal held for dances, and balls, and partners, none of which called anything to Brienne’s mind whatsoever save for the impression she could at once feel in her hand as if another were grasping it. 

At the dress-makers, Margaery pointed out a ream of shining pale blue satin which she thought might compliment Brienne’s eyes, but Brienne’s mind was filled with imaginings of the coming days when the Starks would arrive and they might visit this very shop in pursuit of fine silks and laces and satins which would be needed for a wedding that was not her own. 

And at the shop at the end of the lane, just before they turned back to the city center, were samples of that clothemaker’s specialty - fine lace bibs, skeleton suits, and diminutive little frocks. Margaery cooed over the fine detail and wondered aloud whether she should enquire about pricing and then call on her friend Mrs. Rivers, whom she had met at the spa, and who had two small boys who always seemed to be dirtying their playclothes abominably. 

But Brienne had stopped listening.

Sansa would want children, and perhaps her fiance would be agreeable to that, she could not know. Catelyn, without a doubt, would be terribly happy to be once again chasing little auburn or golden-haired babes around the grounds of Winterfell and Casterly. Despite her efforts and the grip she held on her thoughts, she could suddenly picture Jaime sitting in the tall grass of her meadow, cornflowers bobbing in the wind around him, two small beautiful curly-haired children running circles around him with laughter of rapturous joy which was mirrored on his own face, him reaching out to catch them with his arms. There was such love in his face then. Brienne could not bear it. 

She turned from Margaery, hoping her cousin would not see the tears which tore down her face in despair when she found that she could not control these thoughts after all; when she realized that a desire to entwine her fate with his, to be his and be with him until the end of their days, would require something more than what she had employed to suppress her physical desires. She busied herself with looking in another window, using her reflection to guide her kerchief to her eyes. 

When she had collected herself and could be assured that Margaery had been blissfully unaware of her emotions, they crossed the avenue and made their way toward The Bear Pit. For a place named for something as abominable as bear-baiting, and containing such passionate activity as fencing and sparring, the entrance to the establishment was decidedly inconspicuous. They waited only a moment before Loras stepped outside and joined them. 

He was just remarking on his enjoyable morning, and on his disappointed hopes to have had an opportunity of introducing them to the owner of the establishment (for while Mr. Hunt had no interest in women participating in swordplay, Loras had sparred with Brienne before and would seek to see her accommodated in town so that he might try again to best her) when he looked past his sister and raised his arm in greeting, a smile of surprise cracking across his delicate features. 

“Well met! I had no idea of the two of you being acquainted! I was just telling my sister and our cousin of my excellent morning here, Mr. Marbrand.”

Brienne turned, recognizing the man’s name. Loras had described the club owner to them before, but those descriptions had not done the man justice. He was tall, perhaps a couple of inches shorter than she, and just taller than Loras. His deep wavy auburn hair had not been pulled back, but hung down and framed his face, attractively grazing his collar. He had a handsome square jaw which contained a studious smirk, one that somewhat reminded Brienne of Tyrion Lannister, in a way. But his eyes were something altogether different - a stormy gray color which was at that moment fully fixed on a conspicuous appraisal of Brienne’s person. 

She might have demurred and shyly consented to Loras’ introduction of the man to them, but her attention was no longer on her cousins, nor on the man with the keen grey stare and the fiery locks. 

She colored and felt the freckles on her cheek pop not for Mr. Marbrand but for his companion, whose familiar and too-oft-dreamt-of eyes too seemed unbelievably only for her. His loose golden waves caught the wind, and she imagined that his step hitched when she met his gaze. Here was the very man whose name had spilled too-loudly from her lips in ecstasy the night before, the man whose image invaded her every thought despite her efforts, and whose soul seemed to once again reach out to brush her own, and against whom Brienne’s entire resolve stood and immediately dissipated like so much steam.


	18. Chapter 18

As Jaime and his friend had turned the corner, their conversation had been interrupted by a familiar-sounding voice on the breeze. When he looked up, he very nearly stumbled. Brienne’s pale blue overcoat billowed in the wind and fluttered around her feet like a wayward sail, sent by the gods, which might yet be trimmed and steer him home to her. The swaying fabric very nearly matched her eyes which now focused on him intently as he crossed the avenue with his friend. 

Each minute reaction transformed her face as he approached, a series of minuscule alterations which an observer less familiar with the lady would not be able to interpret. First startled, those clear blue pools quickly clouded over into sadness, before the penumbra of consternation darkened them again. Her lips, first falling open ever so slightly now pressed deliberately into a straight line. Though it was a colder day, she wore no gloves and now was wringing her hands together. Her cheeks were flushed, perhaps from the cold, but the rosy hue now traveled down her neck, conveying a level of embarrassment. Altogether, he did not know what to make of her appraisal of him but _ his _ appraisal of her figure and crimson cheeks only served to remind him of another view, only recently acquired. He now knew exactly how her skin glistened when wet; he knew the exact shape of her breasts when unstayed; and he knew the precise color and texture of the hair which covered her sex. 

Desire coursed through him wickedly. He longed to embrace her, to taste her, to peel away the layers of fabric and worship every inch of her.

_ Stop. This is madness. She’s an innocent maid. Gain control over yourself. _

This had always been his way. The strength and depth of his feelings had often clouded his judgment, colored his mood, and directed his steps turbulently. Ever since his youth he’d been acutely aware of the certainty that he was not like most others around him. He felt love and loss more deeply, even in trivial circumstances, and his passions ran high. His temper and desires constantly needed to be checked. His father and sister had often scorned and chastised him for letting his emotions get the better of him in adulthood. Yet it was something he had never fully learned to control. A weakness. An undesirable thing to be in the eyes of a society that valued propriety and manners over genuine affection. He was not built for this world, for society. He did not fit. The gods had made him deficient. The things he felt now were not the feelings of a gentleman. If he was not careful he would surely frighten Brienne away with the vehemence of his emotions. She was pure and good, and he did not deserve someone as altogether perfect in manners and character alike. And yet. 

_ It is unfortunate that I am so selfish, but there is nothing to be done about it. I am as I am, and I want what I want. I cannot live without her. I have tried. I have failed. If any semblance of happiness is to be mine I must achieve this end. _

He was now walking a precariously narrow path between attaining the thing he desired, and overstepping appropriate bounds and ruining his chances altogether. He knew he could not trust his own emotional intelligence and conscience to guide him at this moment for, if he did, he would very likely try to lure her into some dark corner to defile her, like a fiend. Rather, he would look to her actions which would only ever be proper and honorable, and let them guide him. 

Their eyes had remained transfixed from the moment they had seen one another. He broke away for only the briefest of greetings to his Tyrell cousins who were already distracted by his friend’s charms, before diving back into those crystalline depths to search for answers, yet only finding that same sadness barely masked by a small smile which did not reach them. 

He bowed slightly, not wishing to lose sight of those eyes again. “Miss Tarth. This is an unexpected pleasure. I had ventured to hope that we might run into one another here in town but I never would have dreamt that fortune would smile upon me so soon.” Suddenly, the memory of her body in a cloud of steam made his breath hitch and he felt a smile puckering the corners of his mouth into a mischievous grin that had earned him a resounding slap as a young boy from his governess many times over.

“Captain Lannister, it is good to see you as well”. Her voice wavered. “I trust that you traveled here with the Starks, though I confess I am a little surprised - I had not expected them until tomorrow. Lady Catelyn wrote to tell me of the happy news.” He saw her smile fade just a fraction as she held in a breath awaiting his response.

“Unfortunately, I have been attending to some business matters and have not had the opportunity to see the Starks in over a fortnight. You find me here alone, I’m afraid.”

Brienne’s eyes widened and her brow furrowed in surprise and confusion. “Am I to understand that you have not seen Sansa since the engagement? Pardon me, for I have not properly congratulated you on your impending nuptials.” She appeared to choke on the last word. Jaime felt a jolt of excitement course through his veins as the full weight of her words made themselves understood.

“_ My _ nuptials? My lady, I believe that you have been gravely misinformed.”

Her face remained a mask of bewilderment. “Misinformed? Is not Miss Stark engaged to--”

Jaime chuckled, “--Oh, she is engaged, but thankfully not to me. I would be a most disagreeable match for her. No, she is engaged to Captain Payne with whom I believe she is much better suited.” 

His grin widened as a smile, big enough to match his own, broke across her face like sunlight after a storm.

“Yes,” she cried, “I do believe they will suit one another. Sansa is lively enough. No doubt she will soon cheer him and help to mend his broken heart.”

“And Podrick will inspire her to sit for long hours reading poetry and contemplating the meaning of life, I gather” he said with a smile that elicited a small laugh from Brienne’s lips, and the sound was so lovely that he felt his heart lurch in response. He turned serious. “Although, I understand that Tysha’s sister was an exceptional woman. One does not soon recover from such a love for such a woman. One aught not. One cannot.” Jaime heard his voice grow deep and husky as desire charged through him once again. “The love of a woman that remarkable will ruin you for all others. No one can compare to them. No other sensation will equal the intensity of that passion.”

Brienne’s eyes darkened with some unreadable emotion that quickened his heart and caught the air in his lungs, and he wondered not whether the full meaning of his words had been felt, for the air between their bodies was suddenly charged and heavy.

But then Loras Tyrell was at Brienne’s shoulder and interjecting: “Brienne, I was just telling Mr. Marbrand that you are interested in his club.” He turned back to Addam, “She is very skilled with a sword and can spar with the best swordsmen - my cousin Jaime will vouch for that I think! And I confess I’ve been anxious to try my arm with her again. Do you think she can spar here with us?” Loras looked from Brienne to Addam and smiled at them in turn.

Addam glanced at Jaime and, seeing approval written across his face, nodded in agreement. “I would be happy to open up my club up for you Miss Tarth. I often invite friends to spar during private sessions, and it is my exclusive privilege as the owner to allow in whomever I choose. I know my friend Jaime here usually prefers to spar in the afternoons. I can close the club for a few hours tomorrow afternoon if you would like to join us then. You would all be welcome - please, bring along anyone you wish.”

Brienne appeared startled at the proposition and she immediately looked at Jaime with an inkling of something like interest in her countenance. But just as soon as he had seen it, it was gone, and she had turned back to Addam. “Thank you for the generous offer Mr. Marbrand. I believe that my friends the Starks will be in town tomorrow. I will ask Arya if she would like to join us. Neither she nor I have ever sparred in a club before.”

Addam’s smile was resplendent as he took up Brienne’s hand and held it to his lips. “It is entirely my pleasure, Miss Tarth. I cannot wait to witness all that you can do.”

Heat flared in Jaime’s belly and rose up into his chest, making it tight with something akin to jealousy. The overwhelming urge to bodily shake Addam and chastise him for his overly exuberant attentions on all those who entered his circle, and his own similarly violent need to claim Brienne as his own, shook him to the core. Jaime glared at his best friend but it went unnoticed by all for Addam was still smiling wickedly at Brienne as she demurred with a flush of heat coloring her cheeks before he turned back to continue his charms on the Tyrells. 

Jaime could not contain his impulses any longer and he found his hand on her elbow, steering her towards him once again. He leaned in and spoke softly so that no others would hear. “I look forward to having the opportunity to dance with you tomorrow as well, Miss Tarth. My blade yearns to move against yours.”

She did not flinch or back away as a weaker woman might have. Instead she squared her shoulders and spoke the challenge with something like her old confidence. “It has been too long, Captain Lannister.”

The surge of blood reached every part of his body solidifying his resolve and emboldening him almost past the bounds of propriety. “It has, Miss Tarth.”

_ May the gods be damned, it has. _

“If only we could hasten the hour, but alas, mortals do what mortals must. Until then, my lady.” He looked deliberately into the shining blue depths of her soul as he brought her cool hand to his warm lips. The feel of her skin was as soft as he remembered but the explosion of electric sensation on contact sent an unprecedented shiver down his spine. The smell of her skin was sweet, like bread rising in a warm hearth, and entirely intoxicating. All the while, he had to will himself to keep his teeth and tongue carefully tucked in his mouth as her knuckles pressed firmly between his lips and the overpowering need to taste her threatened to cloud his senses.

Brienne was staring at him just as intently, and his breath hitched when he felt her stretch a long, slender finger so that the tip grazed his wrist. _ Until later, _her touch seemed to say to him, a promise, a memory of what they once shared. He recalled how many times that summer he had taken her wrist to his mouth in private, pushing the bounds of decorum as far they would go. In public he never dared be so bold but she would always touch his wrist with her finger, as she had done now, to remind him that they would soon be in their own private world, where he could be more at liberty with her person. Donning a smile that promised her he would take her up on her offer, he echoed the sentiment, “Until tomorrow”, and saw her go.

_ Tomorrow we dance! _

* * *

_ Tomorrow _. 

Until a quarter of an hour earlier, _ tomorrow _ would have marked the end of their story. _ Tomorrow _the Starks would have arrived to confirm her worst fears and to harvest the last fragments of hope from her shattered heart, a heart which now at his command was whole again. 

_ “ _The love of a woman that remarkable will ruin you for all others,” he’d said. Did he know, did he understand the depth of her reciprocation? Could he see the way that pain gave way to relief in her aspect. She could see him resisting the urge to say even more, felt the way he grasped at her possessively, understood the subdued emotion in his voice as it rippled through the air low and dangerous and only for her. 

_ He loves me still. _

Now _ tomorrow _ would mark a beginning. It was a promise, a second chance, a thing with feathers.

_ Tomorrow _ was a familiar stare from a pair of brilliant green eyes that lingered too long and then turned shy in company - though that shyness seemed long dead now. It was his fingers at her elbow and curled warmly beneath her palm, and the conscious stroke of hers across the tender skin of his wrist, promising more. It was the promise of _ later _. It was in his laughter, in the smile that seemed crafted by the gods for her alone, for she had never seen it bestowed more willingly on any other. It was in the stubble of his chin burning a new path of sensation across her knuckles while his lips found the back of her hand. It was the reminder of those lips against the inside of her wrist, and the scrape of his teeth at her pulse, which she now knew vouchsafed a secret desire she had yet to navigate. How she had treasured their privacy then, in those first fancies of love later misunderstood. How she would treasure it again and more adamantly now that tomorrow had been secured. 

_ Tomorrow _ was the music of blades crashing together as the knights that wielded them danced in time to a synchronized drumming which only their two hearts could hear. 

_ Tomorrow. _

Brienne floated upon a golden cloud for the rest of the afternoon. She did what she could to mask her elation from her cousins, for she did not wish to invite more inquiry or conversation than she might be able to support. Whenever one asked about the alteration in her demeanor she would reply with excitement at having an opportunity to spar in the city, and that she looked forward with pleasure to the imminent arrival of her friends. It was easier than explaining that she was dreaming awake of the love she could not now recall the world without.

_ Tomorrow _ was now full of possibilities, their meadow blossoming anew with every bloom imaginable, ready to be gathered into an arrangement of their choosing. 

* * *

Supper that evening was quiet, which served Brienne’s needs. The less conversation required, the more she could keep Jaime in her thoughts. How different this evening was from this morning. There was no doubt in her mind that he had understood her gesture, that he remembered as clearly as she did, the promise of that touch. The way his eyes had burned into hers, there would be no question. 

She sighed to herself at the thought of his appearance that afternoon.

_ It was as if I had summoned him with my unfaithful tears. To think that I once thought him false, and for what? I was such a fool. I will somehow make him know that I have never stopped caring for him, that there is no end to my affection. _

After supper, at nearing ten o’clock, Mr. Hunt made his visit. It occurred to Brienne on briefly noticing his entrance from her corner by the window that although his addresses were well mannered, his timing was almost always an inconvenience, as if he were practiced in the art of finding people at their most relaxed. Ten in the evening was a vulnerable time, to be sure. Especially for a mind so already dedicated into the next day as Brienne’s was. 

He paid his compliments to Lady Olenna who waved him off, as she was beating Loras at cards and was uninterested in Mr. Hunt’s opinions of her hand, and then he came and sat beside Brienne where she was reading. He must have been speaking to her for some minutes with her distant responses of “yes” and “no” and “hmm” before she roused and, blinking, noticed him staring at her. 

“You seem distracted, Miss Tarth.”

She felt her brows draw together despite the good-natured smile she molded across her teeth. “One _ could _ find that this conversation was a distraction - I was reading until a moment ago, and now you have taken me from that.”

“You hadn’t turned the page for some minutes. I had not thought you such a slow reader, Brienne.”

She reeled in her irritation and set the book down. On a full glance at him she wondered at her ever having thought that she might be at peace with giving her favor to this man. Compared to any man, Jaime was superior, but compared to this man he was half a god. Yet she was determined to be courteous.

“I think I will excuse myself, Mr. Hunt. I have had rather a long day, and I have friends arriving in the morning. I expect you’ll be joining us at the Hundred Hearths concert tomorrow evening?”

He stood, the top of his head just meeting her nose. “I will. But I was hoping I might call on you tomorrow afternoon before the concert, that we might continue our earlier conversation. Marbrand is closing up the Pit for half the day tomorrow, so I will be at your disposal.”

Brienne hid a distant knowing smile; if she had allowed him a view of her face at that moment, he might have seen her eyes positively sparkle at the irony. “I’m sorry, Mr. Hunt. I’m afraid I’ll be quite occupied tomorrow afternoon.” 

With few additional formalities, Brienne took her leave of the party and went to her room where she considered all of the possibilities of _ tomorrow _ until she was slick and breathless and had thoroughly exhausted her pillow’s ability to muffle the sounds of her reincarnated hope.


	19. Chapter 19

At 10 o’clock the following morning, after breaking her fast and donning a pair of wool breeches beneath her skirts, Brienne made her way on foot with Loras to Hunter Place where Lady Stark had often rented a flat while there with Bran. For this trip, she had taken a considerably larger space, as the occupants were far more numerous than usual. Lady Catelyn herself opened the door to the townhouse on their arrival and ushered them in with a warm embrace, asking after their health and that of the Lady Olenna.

Catelyn had been on the verge of leaving the room to go in search of Arya when Bran entered on a low wheeled chair, being steered by Captain Podrick Payne. The delight in both their faces in seeing her was rapturous. Podrick, it seemed, had been filling Bran’s head with more stories of the sea than he had imagined existed, and he could not wait to share them with Brienne. But first she would set her satchel down and then go and press Captain Payne’s hand and wish him every happiness. It would have been enough for him to marry Sansa so that Jaime would not, but knowing that the young man would yet mend his heart, just as she would, brought her unbridled joy which she could not help but share. Brienne did not notice Lady Catelyn in the doorway considering her altered aspect with a faint smile, and then parting from them. 

Sansa and Arya came down the stairs as a unit, and Brienne was again in raptures, for she could offer her congratulations to the one and bear such glad news of the day’s activities to the other. Arya quickly ran back up to her room to collect her things while Brienne and Loras finally settled down to hear about Bran’s new perspective on pirates, and the young lovers sat together in quiet bliss in the corner of the room. 

At noon they resumed their journey, now with Arya at their side, and made their way slowly through the Middle Ward. All were anxious to reach the club for their own reasons, but Brienne was determined not to be too early to their assignation, and she had promised Catelyn that Arya would see the town somewhat first. The Starks had welcomed her invitation to join the rest of the group at the concert that evening, and Catelyn was already fretting about the overabundance of time one spent indoors in the city. The air, Brienne thought, smelled sweeter this afternoon than the last, and she was perfectly content to stroll past the shops now that the shadow of a former tomorrow had dispersed. 

At three minutes past the appointed hour, the trio knocked at the side door of The Bear Pit on Bolton Avenue, as Arya could not be held back any longer. The effusively handsome Mr. Marbrand welcomed them gladly and, before they had all crossed the threshold, Arya was assaulting him already with questions about his business: Did he spar himself? (“Yes, when the fancy strikes me.”), What was the original bear pit like? (“Dreadful, I think. But I hope you’ll not wound my pride by finding my establishment so.”), Did a lady really fight a bear there naked (“I couldn’t say,” he said with a chuckle and a wink at the girl.), Did he always let women fight in his club? “Ah,” he said to the final question, “no lady has ever asked until now, but I am sure I’ve never been opposed to it. Women can be just as strong as men, and stronger in some cases,” this he said with a renewed appraisal of Brienne’s person, “I think it’s more trying for ladies in the city who have no fields to roam or hills to climb, and horse riding a rare occupation. I would be quite glad to welcome a bevy of ladies every day if they wished it!” 

The three of them smiled, and Addam took advantage of the pause in the conversation to direct them to the changing room. “Now we only have the one large space, since ladies, as I said, have never shown an interest and I would so hate to give up square footage for a populace who never arrives. If this becomes a more common occasion I may need to revisit that decision, but all in good time. For now, you ladies may change here.”

He pushed open a door behind which lay counters and benches, the walls lined with shelves for one’s belongings. A single polished mirror set in a heavy frame graced the wall beside the door ostentatiously. “Feel free to leave your things wherever you wish, strew them about for all I care, for the club is all at your disposal for the afternoon. He turned back to the door and ushered Loras through it ahead of him. “Loras and I will be outside when you’re ready, and Jaime should be joining us shortly I should think. But take as much time as you need. And please, ladies, feel secure in your modesty - this door locks from the inside, here, and the only key is behind another lock in my office. No one will disturb you.” 

They thanked him and, when the door had closed, Arya pressed the lock and turned back to Brienne. “Did he mean Captain Lannister? Is he joining us too?”

Brienne swallowed and tried to suppress the glow she felt. “Yes, the Captain and Mr. Marbrand are old friends, I believe. We met them both in the street yesterday and—“

“But this is excellent! Captain Lannister will get to see me spar again and perhaps without the distraction of my sister he’ll be able to remark on my form!” 

A blip of jealousy raced from Brienne’s heart to her brain. “Yes well you also have Loras and Mr. Marbrand. Loras will challenge you no doubt - he’s never seen you spar, Arya. I think you might be able to give him a good fight. And Mr. Marbrand has likely seen every fine athlete in the kingdom fight within these walls. He will have an even better opinion to share.”

“You’re right! Who better?” Arya snapped up her bag and began to change her clothes. Brienne hung up her blue coat and unbuttoned the white dress with the light grey spotted overdress to reveal her chemise which was already tucked into tan breeches. She unfolded the linen shirt and pulled it on, leaving the neck untied to give her shoulders room to stretch. She freed her braid from the collar and let it hang at her back as she preferred.

Arya, having given less thought to her appearance, whipped past her with dark hair flying, unlocked the door and, with barely enough of a glance at Brienne to encourage her to follow, dashed through it. 

Brienne smiled to herself and willed her breath to calm. She stared at her face in the mirror and touched a finger to the scarring there, where Jaime had once before touched her.

_ He might be here already. He might be just on the other side of the door right now, waiting for me. _

Her blood heated at the thought, so she remained there before the mirror and did not join the others until she could be sure that the blush had faded.

* * *

Jaime had not yet arrived, but Arya would not wait for Loras to have a partner, and she was insisting Mr. Marbrand watch her face Brienne before all else. Their bout did not last overly long. Arya’s footwork was sloppy, and Brienne’s heart was beating at such an anxious pace that she would not slow to accommodate her. In the end, Arya was disarmed, and yielded to the applause of Mr. Marbrand. “Bravo, Miss Stark. Your skill with a weapon is quite evident. I hope you will come back while you’re in town - I think we could improve your footwork so that next time you might just last a bit longer against the formidable Miss Tarth.” He turned to Brienne with unabashed enthusiasm. “Miss Tarth, your form is excellent. I think _ some _ of your friends do a disservice to you in their praise.”

She grinned. She was quite sure whose praise Mr. Marbrand did not falter. 

She saw Loras approaching with his own weapon. “Thank you, Mr. Marbrand. Loras and I had the same instructor, though he for a little longer.”

“Then you must be a quick learner, for I think your skill outshines most.”

Loras smiled at her, a challenge over Addam’s shoulder, and Brienne smirked back at him. “Excuse me, Mr. Marbrand, I do believe I have another challenger.”

He turned to smile at Loras, “That is well. Perhaps I can work with Miss Stark now and prepare her for her next battle!”

Addam’s eyes sparkled at her and waved Loras into his space. He turned his back to the two of them and went off to join Arya across the floor. 

Brienne cocked her eyebrow at Loras, who smirked at her and raised his weapon in an opening stance. Perhaps an effect of sparring with men with few responsibilities and all the time in the world, Loras had improved slightly since their last encounter. She found herself well-matched through several moves, and at one occasion she over-stepped and was almost caught between his blade and the wall, but she ducked and parried and pushed him off. 

They had been at this for some minutes when the composition of the atmosphere around her seemed to change. Addam and Arya were still across the room, she could see them out of the corner of her eye. But now there was a familiar presence somewhere behind her. The sense that _ he _ had arrived and was now watching her with those eyes of his made her surge forward against Loras fiercely. She laid into him harder, determined to make quick work of him so that she could turn her attention and affection to Jaime. 

* * *

She was there. When he entered the club half an hour behind schedule, Brienne was turned away from him, battling Loras. It gave him an opportunity to admire her body and fighting stance freely. Jaime could see the glorious arch of her lower back as it met her deliciously toned backside. His eyes traced the curve and followed it to where it met her gloriously strong thighs, topping long, sinuous legs that he ached to feel wrapped about his waist, and which now stretched tantalizingly before him, performing advances and lunges to perfection. The long column of her neck was perfectly exposed and he longed to brush his lips across the soft skin at the nape where wisps of hair had come loose from her braid. Her muscled shoulders flexed with each parry, and he wondered how hard he might grip them in the heat of passion. His thoughts once again wandered to the memory of her nude form and he knew that when he bit that shoulder it would be strong but the skin itself would be soft and yielding. 

_ Will the rest of you yield to me Brienne? Will you let me love you this time? _

Jaime sensed the instant that she became aware of his presence as the air between them became more heated and her movements intensified. The line of her back straightened, her shoulders squared, her steps were more sure and her thrusts more fierce. Where she had been circling and biding her time before, now she was advancing forcefully and beating Loras back with a ferocity he had not been permitted to witness from her in many years, as if she were showing off.

_ There is my Brienne. My fierce warrior queen. My wild one. Mine. _

He felt his body drawn to her movements like the gravitational pull of the moon on the ocean tide. She shifted and his center responded. She struck and his arm braced. She grunted and he felt the sound reverberate in his own chest. Brienne turned when Loras sidestepped her and Jaime’s eyes were drawn to the neckline of her shirt where the laces hung loosely. He could see the edges of her collarbones. Trickles of sweat were beading and readying themselves to cascade down into the valley of her modest bosom, and a fine damp sheen had formed on her brow. The thought of kissing the salt from her and then diving into those plump lips, now puckered in concentration, made his groin stir. It was the flashing of her blue eyes, however, that ignited the blood in his veins most, and he had to school his thoughts or risk shocking the ladies with his embarrassing hardness.

She defeated Loras with three successive forceful blows that found him losing the grip on his sword as it clattered to the ground in front of him. Everyone in the room clapped in approval, Jaime sure that his applause was the loudest. He could feel the grin spreading wide across his face when she finally turned and directly met his gaze.

“Bravo, my lady. Well done.” She approached as if drawn to him. “I apologize for my tardiness.” He bent and removed an object from his satchel then, righting himself, polished the delicate red skin of it against his shirt. He held it up to her when she reached him. “I happened to recall how hungry you used to get after sparring, and how much you enjoyed these. The lateness of the season kept me a little longer at my task of finding one for you.” He arched his brow, “Care for a bite?” 

Brienne’s eyes darted towards the apple, then roved over his arm to his chest and up his neck, before glancing quickly into his eyes and then back down to the apple. 

_ A peace offering. A memory. He means to make me remember old times. _

The sides of her mouth pulled up in amusement as she looked around to see if others were watching. Having ascertained that they were not, she plucked the fruit from his hand and bit it before quickly handing it back. With his eyes still trained on hers, he took the apple and bit it right where her mouth had been, watching her flush deeply as he suckled on the core and felt the tart juice run down his parched throat. Brienne’s eyes darkened as she stared at his mouth. Very deliberately, he licked some more juice from the apple before holding it out for her to bite. When she tried to snatch it from him again, he pulled it away, and brought it back to her mouth. She rolled her eyes at him, but leaned forward to take a bite anyway. Jaime felt the thrill of victory. 

_ She is playing along. _

Never one to be satisfied with winning small stakes, he let go of the apple, so that she had to catch it in her hands before it fell to the ground. The heated glare she gave him made his heart soar with feeling, and his blood run hot. He smiled wickedly at her and ran his hands through his hair where some curls had fallen just over his left eye.

“Your hair has grown long.” She said irritably, taking another bite. 

“Is that to your taste?” he asked of either the apple or his hair, letting her choose. Her eyes told him that both were desirous as they roamed appreciatively over his golden locks.

“You have always had nice hair.” Even though it was barely perceptible, he thought he heard her breath hitch.

“Yes, but it is most inconvenient at the moment. It will get in my eyes while sparring. And I do hope to beat you soundly. Will you help me to tie it back?” He held out his his wrist, displaying the cordage he had managed to knot there for this purpose. “It would give you an unfair advantage if you don’t. I would appeal to your sense of justice.”

Brienne shook her head and strode to the nearby bench where his satchel sat and set down the half-eaten apple after taking another bite. When she returned, swiping the juice from her lip with her cuff, she found that Jaime was still struggling to untie the cord around his wrist. It was quite difficult to do using only ones teeth. 

As he’d hoped, Brienne showed sympathy. “Move aside” she said gently, her breath panting somewhat against his skin. She took his wrist in her hands and unwound the cord for him, applying those strong, gentle fingers which had whispered their promise against his wrist the day before. 

After removing the cord, she held it out for him to take but he shook his head at her and lifted the other arm for emphasis. “I am afraid I will need your help tying it back.” Jaime ran his fingers through his hair, and starting at the top of his head, he gathered as much of it as he could to pull it back for her. 

Seeing his struggle once again, she looked about to find that Loras had vacated the space and was now observing Arya and Addam who went through their paces ignorant of Brienne and Jaime’s proximity. She brought her hand up and took the strands from him. Using both of her hands she carded through his hair from the tip of his forehead and down the sides, until she had pulled it back to the nape of his neck. 

The sensation of her fingers against his scalp was altogether blissful and he felt shivers run down his neck into his back and chest. For a few moments she stood behind him, sight unseen, but he could feel the heat of her body radiating into his back, her fingers grazing his neck as she wound the cord around his hair, her breath coming in quick concentrated bursts, buffering against his neck and shoulders. 

“There.” She said breathlessly, taking a step back from him. He turned around to meet her heated stare, just as breathless as she. 

“Might I have this dance, my lady?” 


	20. Chapter 20

She let him set the pace. That was a mistake. He was toying with her, teasing her weapon with his, but she would not have had it any other way, for she had him. The look in his eyes when she’d bitten the apple had been as inviting as sin itself. And the feel of his hair in her hands had already ignited a flame deep within her. Now his slow strides and strokes elevated her heart rate, raised her anticipation of each move, imagining each touch of his sword like his fingers running down her arm. He had always been an excellent swordsman. The loss of a hand would have made any other man weak. But there were no men like him. He was effortless. A little slower in some motions, as if he was still trying to translate from right to left, but graceful, elegant, seductive, deadly. 

Finally, she grew frustrated with his ambivalence, desirous of more deliberate contact, and stepped back, hefting her weapon, “You’re unworthy of this pantomime. Give me the sword, Jaime.”

“Oh, I will,” he growled. Finally, he drove at her, the sword alive in his hands. She jumped back parrying, but he followed, pressing the attack. 

_ Yes. This. This is what I long for. _

No sooner did she turn one cut than the next was upon her. Loras had matched her well enough, but Jaime was in her mind. They were so in sync that it was more a dance than a bout. A choreographed battle performed to the drumming of their hearts in time. Their swords kissed and sprang apart and kissed again. Her blood was singing. This was what she was meant for, she had never felt so alive as when she was sparring with Jaime, the gap between them narrowing dangerously with each blow. 

High, low, overhand, they rained down steel upon each other, swinging so hard that sparks flew when the swords came together, her exhalations becoming louder. Loras had a habit of holding back, and Arya was never strong enough for this. Jaime was her equal. Every slash of his blade was like an ode belying his trust, his belief in her. He made her feel like a warrior queen. Upswing, sidestep, overhand, always attacking, moving into her, faster, faster, faster . . . they were grunting in each other’s faces, sweat flying from one body to the other, a world apart from all others around them. 

His body was on fire, every part of him felt invigorated by the sheer thrill of this fight. He matched her blow after blow, strike after strike, swing after swing, until he found himself panting and inching himself ever closer to her, the synchronicity of their movements making the challenge immensely gratifying. He had never sparred with anyone both as equally skilled and utterly captivating. His eyes were drawn to her every movement, not only to keep the pace, but in admiration of her grace and proficiency, and in the marvel of having his heart's desire at last so close to him again. 

Her body was a thing of beauty as it moved against his with only the formidable force of thrusting blades to part them. Sweat was now pouring down her face and neck, dampening her clothes everywhere that cloth met skin. The ivory shirt she wore had become translucent and her tunic underneath was no great barrier as it too was drenched. It did not shield his eyes from exploring, once again, the contours of her breasts and outline of her pert nipples as she swung her weapon. Sweat had also drenched the waist of her breeches and collected at the apex of her thighs, highlighting the vee where he longed to live.

Every muscle and curve was on full display. Every grunt had him imagining the sound coming from beneath him as he moved over her. Every rise and fall of her chest and every thrust of her sword against his stirred his lust. He was becoming impossibly hard, his breeches tight, but he would not leave this bout unsatisfied. She pushed into him and their blades met, even harder. Harder and harder still he struck at her sword hoping to wear her down, to penetrate her carefully laid defenses.

“I demand satisfaction, wench!” He panted heavily into her ear as he pressed his sword to hers, driving it up against her chest.

Brienne smiled at him, recognizing the familiar nickname from their past and from her dreams, arching her brow before sidestepping and breaking away. Her eyes flashed as she panted her reply, “And what satisfaction do you seek, sir?”

“All that which you will give me, Brienne.” He struck her sword hard.

“Ah, but this, this you must earn. I do not mean to yield so easily to you.” She looked at him defiantly and danced away as he circled close enough to strike at her chest.

“I would have it no other way, sweetling.” He gave her his best predatory grin before lunging at her with all of his force. 

She marveled at the strength emanating from his arm with every blow, the muscles of his forearm corded and beautiful as he swung towards her. His neck strained as he beat back against her. Sweat dripped down his neck into the gap at the top of his shirt where it was caught by gleaming golden hair that she longed to feel. But for now it was a distraction. She found herself stepping too close to him, and he was able to force her back and pin her to the wall, his sword grinding against hers, his body pressed to hers.

“Not half bad,” he ground out, “for a wench.” 

She felt something shift near her hip, and she saw the hunger, the desire in his eyes. They might drop their weapons this moment and give in to those passions. But not here, not like this. She did not plan on yielding, and two could play this game of his. She leaned into his pelvis and mirrored his hunger with her eyes. His eyes widened, and his lips parted in something like shock. She took advantage of his distraction and fought her way back, stroke by stroke. The dance went on. She gained some ground and circled the space, with her weapon outstretched, blocking each of his thrusts patiently, an eye on his feet and the other on his weapon, waiting. 

“Come on my sweetling, the music’s still playing.”

And then she saw her opportunity. He was rocking back on his right foot where he should have shifted his weight to the other already - his feet had not been trained to transpose his movements as well as his arm had following his injury. She considered letting him win the bout then, could calculate how many steps it would take until she found herself yielding beneath him on the ground, pliant and panting against him. But she knew him. She knew he would not accept pity or charity, even if it were a kindness, even from her. 

_ He’s good, but he’ll get better. He’ll best me someday soon. But not today _. 

Grunting, she came at him, blade whirling, and suddenly Jaime was struggling to keep steel from skin. With a sudden blow from an unexpected corner, she drove him to his knees and held the tip of her blade to his chest with an open-mouthed smile, panting. “Do you yield, sir?”

He panted in time with her. “You’ve given me no choice my lady. You’ve driven me to my knees. And although I have fought valiantly, and resisted as best as a far inferior opponent could, I yield and lay all of my defenses at your feet.” He lay the sword down, and slowly dragged his eyes back up her body to hers, “Does that please you?”

Her eyes still locked with his, her tongue darted out to wet her lips, and her smile grew with his. She could not imagine wanting to be anywhere else at that moment, save for properly in the circle of Jaime’s arms. 

From somewhere behind Jaime came the sound of a single person clapping vigorously. Brienne looked up to see Addam approaching them with a gleam in his eyes, and she flushed all over, almost as if they’d been caught in the throes of carnal bliss instead of sparring in a public space.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credit will go where credit is due - bits of this scene have been borrowed from _A Storm of Swords_ by George R R Martin


	21. Chapter 21

Jaime placed his steel sword at her feet, and as his eyes traveled slowly up her impossibly long legs, he imagined what it would feel like for those legs to slide against his and hold him close as he thrust into her with a sword made exclusively for pleasure. From this vantage point, his head was a mere few inches away from her thighs, and if he leaned the least bit forward, his mouth and nose would be submerged in the cradle of her sex. He imagined licking the sweat off of her inner thighs, letting his tongue drag on her skin until it became buried in a blanket of golden hair. Then, he would part her folds and suck on her entrance until she screamed his name in ecstasy. 

Letting his eyes rise higher, he thought about how heated she would feel under his tongue. Her molten core would drip for him like honey and he would drink voraciously from her to quench his thirst. And having sated his thirst, his hunger would only appear to grow in comparison, and so he would feast on her flesh, collecting every drop of sweat from the skin circling her core, to her navel, past the planes of her taut stomach, and stopping only then to suckle on her breasts.

_ I want to please you Brienne. I want to show you everything there is to know about pleasure.  _

“Does that please you?” His words were dripping with want.

By the time Jaime’s eyes locked with hers he had tasted every inch of her in his mind. If his eyes could speak she would know the barely contained desire there, and surely flee from him.

Yet, the look in her eyes appeared to be just as needy. Her tongue darted out of her mouth and licked at her bright red lips, swollen and chapped from her habit of worrying them while fighting. Oh, if he could only pull on those lips with  _ his _ teeth until they opened up for him in a soft moan.

A rumble formed deep in his chest and he had to work hard to stifle it. Fortunately, his struggle was made easier by Addam’s sudden burst of applause on approach. Jaime looked up to see Brienne flushed red with embarrassment, which could only mean that he had not misinterpreted the look of hunger on her face.

“That was magnificent! Miss Tarth I could not have believed it if I had not seen it with my own eyes. I have never seen anyone beat Jaime Lannister at his own skill as soundly as you just have.” Addam’s lips were upturned in a suggestive grin and his eyes flashed in amusement. He touched her elbow and bowed his head. “I congratulate you.”

_ Stop touching her Addam! Gods, you know exactly what you’re doing, you cad! _

Jaime struggled to his feet and forced a smile, but he was sure that his grin was sharp and dangerous, more a threat than a friendly gesture. “Addam, we should let the lady go change and freshen up. She looks positively soaked through from the exertions of beating us all mercilessly with her mighty prowess.”

Addam chuckled, “Of course. Miss Tarth, it would be my pleasure to have you come here and cut Jaime down with your blade any time you feel the need. Jaime, I am sure, would not object. Perhaps, next time I will spar with you as well?”

“Miss Tarth may spar with whomever she chooses, but I will require a rematch.” Jaime took Brienne’s elbow and steered her towards the changing room, “And I mean to make it a long one.” Jaime glared at Addam, whom only chuckled and shook his head in response as he walked away.

“Brienne, may I have the pleasure of speaking with you outside a moment before you depart?” His smile was much warmer this time.

“Of course, I will meet you outside shortly.” Her voice was tight and an octave lower than usual.

Jaime bowed, and as she looked into his eyes with nothing but tenderness, he felt hope soar in his chest. 

* * *

His eyes. Gods. His eyes on her, truly on her after so long. How had she ever lived before without those eyes on her? Scorching up her damp joints, her heaving chest, burning through her like wildfire and then diving into her depths, studying her with pleasure as if he knew intimately all the secret fantasies of her soul. Two days ago she thought those eyes lost to her. Yesterday she believed they loved her still. But today she knew that they desired her too. Her. 

_ Me.  _

Her belly had been aflame with her own desire when he had pressed her against the wall, and by the time he reached his knees, she had felt herself dripping with need.

_ He wants me. He  _ has  _ wanted me. Everything in his aspect speaks of it. He tries to mask it, to hide it beneath propriety, but I know his looks. I know his frankness. Where have these eyes been? _

Everything that she had been convinced of being false by Ladies Catelyn and Olenna were in actuality bold brilliant strokes of his truest character. He could be glib and brash and proud, yet all of this fell away from him when he truly felt. And in those eyes she saw his want. She had felt his fervent desire pressed against her, and once she had driven him to the ground, it had taken distraction, counting of breaths and heartbeats, to keep her from sinking to her own knees and prostrating herself before him.

Nothing short of propriety could have kept her from him then. And it was only the knowledge that Loras and Arya were still present, could still see them, which had halted her. She suspected that his friend Mr. Marbrand was more carefree than she, but she would not wish to sully his establishment with her wantonness either. 

She sought to soothe her blush as Addam approached, but it flared once again the moment Jaime cupped her elbow. 

_ He claims me with an un-feined jealousy. Am I so shy before him that he does not realize how ardently my passions match his own, how I could not look at another man without the one I want standing heads taller than them in my mind? _

He ushered her toward the changing room where Arya had just entered, and he quietly asked if he might speak with her again before they left. She assented and, tearing her eyes from him, walked through the door and locked it behind her, pressing her back to it. Arya was across the room absorbed in her ministrations, so Brienne turned and looked into the large mirror which reflected the disheveled appearance of her linens. The vee of moisture over her pelvis should have crimsoned her cheeks had she not then caught sight of her eyes first.

She had not been a pretty child. She had been an awkward girl, and a distinctive woman. But never pretty. Never beautiful. Yet now her eyes seemed illuminated, off-set by strands of straw blonde hair which had loosed from her braid and now haloed her face. Her shoulders looked strong, but smooth, and her hips were bold but shapely. Tiny beads of sweat seemed to cling to the tendons of her long throat delicately, sparkling in the light from the open skylight above. And her freckles…

_ Like stars transposed by sunlight, isn’t that what he’d once called them? Beautiful.  _

She was once again that girl from Tarth sitting in the tidepool watching herself shimmer and alter in the spectrum of the sunrise. Yet this transformation had come without those elements. He was the sunlight drawing forth her stars, he was the sea reflecting back her beauty. 

He wished to speak with her. To--no, she wrinkled her nose to stay a tear that threatened to flee her eye. This was too much happiness at once. How could she bear any more? She began the process of peeling each layer of cloth from her body, air rushing in beneath the fabric to cool her radiating skin, chuckling to herself at the remembrance of his appearance with the apple and his ridiculous behavior. Just like before. He was as he had been. As they had been. Young. Their lives ahead of them. Together. 

_ And we will have that still, my love _ . 

She re-dressed, and piled the damp fabric into her satchel, meeting Arya’s grin when she finally ventured over to admit her defeat against Loras, tempered by her pleasure at being welcome back for more training with Addam. “Gendry will like it here, I think,” the girl said with a sparkle in her eyes. “We’ll bring him next time.” Brienne agreed and gathered their things to depart. 

* * *

When the ladies left the changing room, Loras and Jaime were conversing near the main entryway of the club. 

“...I’d be delighted, cousin. Thank you for including me.”

“Excellent! So we’ll see you this evening, then.”

“Oh,” interrupted Arya, “is Captain Lannister joining us at the concert as well?”

“I am indeed,” his eyes ticked up to meet Brienne who had approached slower, behind Arya, “I do take pleasure in music, but the company makes the event, don’t you think?” A secret smile blinked across his face before his expression settled again and he turned back to the girl. 

“Captain Payne will be glad to see you again.”

“And I, him,” he nodded.

Addam joined the group with a large umbrella in hand. “Here,” he handed it to Loras. “You should be able to find a cab for hire three streets over.”

“Oh, is it raining?” Brienne peered through the front window. 

“I’m afraid so,” said Addam with a tone that belied some small pleasure in the change of forecast.

“I will go and fetch us a cab,” said Loras, “and then return for the ladies.” 

“I’ll come with you!” cried Arya, already moving to the door, “I love the rain.”

“Arya, you’ll make yourself ill!” Brienne chided.

But Arya was already halfway outside. Loras rolled his eyes for Brienne’s benefit. “She and I shall go then, and come back for you. I’ll try to see that she stays somewhat dry. Cousin,” he said to Jaime, “will you stay with Brienne? We should return shortly.” And then he was gone. 

She smiled to herself and then saw Jaime watching her, his fever cooled but lurking beneath the surface. “I think I should like to take the air. Might we wait under the awning?” 

He offered his arm. “Of course.” They were almost of a height with one another, and their shoulders bumped together as they parted from Addam, every point of contact singeing through her coat. 

* * *

They left the smell of sweat and exertion behind and stepped into the fresh air. The sky was purple with clouds and the wind whipped his curls loose. She reached up to his shoulder and caught the cord before it flew from the last strand, laughing with him as he turned to face into the wind, his hair blowing back behind him, her coat blowing against her legs as she faced him, the sides brushing his calves, the two of them in their own world apart from the storm. She straightened the cord and then, picking up his arm, began to wind it around his wrist. She could see a question in his eyes, but she cast hers down to her task, her head bent. “So you will join us this evening?”

“Yes,” came his breathy reply. He tipped his head forward as well so that she might hear him over the gale.

She looped the ends together over his pulse and tied them in a bow so that he might pull it off easily enough later, and then returned his arm to his side, but did not immediately let go, arrested by his eyes which were searching hers, darkening, only inches away. 

“That is, Loras invited me.”

She smirked. “Loras wishes for more friends to be in attendance so that he can occupy his time with chatter rather than listen to the harpists.”

She saw his countenance fall, his eyes lowering to focus on a point at the base of her neck. “You’d have me not go, then?”

“I?” she felt her heart begin to race in panic, “I -- No, of course not. Of course I would have you join us. I would have… that is… if Loras had not...”

He nodded, a breath, his eyes still cast down. Then he reached to her side and took up her hand in his, held it to his chest, a reminder of the spark she’d felt when she’d touched him at Winterfell. A reminder of her fantasy in the baths. She felt the molten ball of oil in her belly begin to slide. They were so close now, their heat radiating into one another, his breath glancing off of her neck in their cocoon, goosepimpling her flesh. 

_ I love you with all your insecurities. _

“Jaime--” 

“--I had hoped…” he finally raised his eyes back to her, a mad desperation spinning there. 

_ None but you. _

“Yes…”

_ I love you with all your passions.  _

“Brienne, I...” his eyes ticked from her eyes to her lips and back again. 

She leaned closer to him by millimeters, longing to be wrapped up in him, to climb inside his chest and hold his heart safe and whisper the words she feared to say aloud.

_ I love you I love you I love all of you. _

As his mouth slanted as if to meet hers, she heard her name carried on the wind, the shout of Arya and Loras returning. She recalled then that they were outside, realized then how close his face was to hers, and she gasped, retreating slightly. She watched a myriad of emotions flash across his face, finally settling on recognition and subsequent frustration at the sound of her voice being called a second time. She slipped both hands into his one and clasped them between them, reassuring him at his wrist as she had before. 

_ Tonight _ , she mouthed. And he nodded, unabated love still flaring from his eyes. When she turned from him to join the others, the feel of his hand clutching hers seared their promise into her skin.

* * *

Waves tossed over his sea of emotions, breaking against his shore. She had been standing so close to him, willingly touching him, her hands in his hair and winding the cord around his wrist, sending equal parts pleasure and agony into his racing heart.

Jaime felt the ecstasy of love rekindling from the smoldering embers of a blaze so strong and true that neither storms nor the passage of time could fully extinguish it. As Brienne blew on the fiery embers of his soul with those eyes so blue, and open, and full of unfulfilled hopes and desires he felt himself become consumed by his own need to be closer to her, to hold her in his arms, to kiss those lips and leave traces of his love pressed upon them. The draw from those eyes, from her warm breath on his hand, the tingling on his wrist, the magnetic pull of her body so close to his was moving him closer still. 

His head leaned in to breathe her same breaths and sought to taste her desire upon her mouth and tongue. Brienne was moved by the same syncopation, echoing back and forth between them, high and low, waves rising and cresting and crashing, driving both infinitesimally closer, moved by the force of their independent needs. His eyes focused on her lips as they spoke his name and parted, welcoming, and yet unfamiliar, unexplored.

_ Brienne. My Brienne. My love. _

His head slanted as he came so close, only a breath away now, to claim his love, to take it and savor it, and to pour himself back into her ardently.

The distant sounds of the Stark girl calling Brienne’s name were a minor distraction and an easily surmountable inconvenience he barely allowed to register. Brienne was all he wanted, all he needed, and he needed her more than anything he had ever needed in his life. 

When she stopped and pulled away from him, Jaime felt the agony of rejection, the spindly poison of self-doubt creeping into his heart and soul. Suddenly, he was bereft, left suspended on a high precipice with nothing but fear to hold onto. 

_ Gods be damned, not again. Have I been deluding myself? Does she not want me? Please, Brienne please… _

Searching her eyes he only saw frustration and embarrassment where he was certain he had seen love and desire moments ago. He felt his own frustration mounting as Arya called Brienne’s name a second time, seeking to take her from him before he could interpret her reactions and intentions fully. And then, just as desperation and anxiety began to climb uncontrollably inside of him, he saw a pinprick of light - longing returned to her countenance, and he felt both her hands clasp him, her finger swiping along his wrist as she mouthed  _ Tonight. _

Jaime took a breath to steady his nerves. He reminded himself that she had always been better at navigating this world of propriety and societal expectations. She was better at reining herself in and doing what was correct in the eyes of those that set and enforced the rules. She was so good, so patient, so logical, and he needed her to remind him that their world was not as he would have it. He could not simply take what he wanted just because the opportunity arose. Jaime had been denied this for so long, what was another few hours? The opportunity to see her once more, and speak the words he carried in his heart, would arise this evening at the concert.

Nodding his head he held onto the promise of love that he hoped had not been denied but merely deferred. Jaime pressed that promise into her hands, instead of the lips he had yearned for, holding fast to them, not wanting them to slip from his grasp.

_ I love you. Please let me love you. I need to love you. And please, please love me, if only a little, in return. _

After a moment that went on for eons, he unclasped her hand so that Loras could escort her under the umbrella into the carriage. He watched her go but he would not let her get away, not if he could help it, not if there was a chance to have her, not if Brienne would make room in her heart for him. Jaime had denied himself so much for so long, he could not deny himself this, he could not forfeit his happiness. Brienne was his only heart’s desire and he would not deny it, not again, not anymore. 


	22. Chapter 22

Brienne stood at her sideboard and tipped the pitcher over her bowed head to rinse the sweat from her scalp. Citrus scented suds splashed into the bowl below as her scrubbed skin dried in the air. She twisted the remaining water from her locks and pulled it back from her face. After summoning the maid to collect the bathwater, she braided it back and twisted it at the nape of her neck, pinning it into place. Margaery would be in the next room having another maid see to her locks which were always soft and wavy and seemed to demand much more attention than any other person’s. But Brienne was self-sufficient in her presentation. She had never needed nor wanted any assistance, and to begin now would be foolishness, for the only person she might wish to impress had rather see her in breeches with a sword in her hand.

She smiled to herself as she opened her wardrobe, fingering the fabrics, and wondering how many of her more awful gowns she might be able to be rid of in her future life, and replace with breeches and shirts, hers or otherwise. Heat formed in her belly at the thought of wearing Jaime's clothes, and his eyes on her, or his hands removing them... She was meant for Jaime; she was certain that he had been on the verge of renewing his addresses, and that the subject would be revisited quite soon. 

She’d never been more certain of a thing in her life than she was of him this time. He was tempestuous and passionate and did not care for the strictures of society, and she loved him for it. She loved that freedom in him, to dare the world to accept him, to challenge the world to defy him. She wanted to be cloaked in that feeling, to be brave enough for him, to stand by his side and dare the world judge them together. But for a little while, propriety would out. Lady Olenna might be a difficulty, but as Brienne was not hers, and was past the age of oversight, they could do as they wanted, as they wished. Yet she did not want to upset the woman. 

She donned the gown she had chosen for the evening - a bright blue which seemed at odds with the perpetual patter of rain from the darkened sky. When she looked in the mirror again, the creature there was an altogether different one than had left the house that morning. The color in her cheeks was attractive, the scarring there seemed muted, for the hue of the dress drew out her eyes splendidly. Her lips were as they’d always been yet now she could just feel Jaime’s breath on them again, and understood them as he did. The wide neckline of the gown highlighted the breadth of her shoulders, but made her waist appear slimmer, her bosom curved, almost as if she had more of an average - albeit tall - woman’s shape. She felt whole, human, loved, alive and free in her own skin for the first time. But she sighed when she saw the freckles standing out on her bare forearms, as they always seemed odd when on display, but her pelisse at least would guard those until they were indoors again. 

Brienne descended the stairs before Loras or Margaery were ready and found herself alone in the sitting room with Lady Olenna. The matron looked regal in her rose-colored gown shot through with gold. She was perched on the sofa, away from the window, and eyed Brienne somewhat suspiciously as she entered the room. “Come sit with me, my child. Away from the drafts.”

Brienne smiled at her kindly, and took the seat next to her. 

Olenna reached down and patted Brienne’s hand with hers. “Loras tells me that my illustrious nephew Jaime is in town, and that you’ve seen him.”

Brienne drew her hand out from under hers and placed it with her other in her lap, straightening her back. “Yes, Captain Lannister is in town. The owner of Loras’ sparring club is an old friend of his. Mr. Marbrand, as you know, allowed myself and Arya Stark the use of his club for our practice today along with Loras, and your nephew joined us.”

The old woman sighed. “My girl, you know that I would not keep you from your exertions. You’re better than Loras, for one. And for another, I will not have my poor dead husband’s voice in my ear calling me unjust for keeping you from an activity to which you are clearly suited. But mind the company you keep, Brienne.  _ I _ married the only good Lannister.”

Brienne stared into the fire, then turned eyes bluer than the day on the lady beside her. “Uncle Kevan was a wonderful man, aunt. I loved him dearly. But--”

“No.” Olenna drew herself up with an arched brow. “I’ll hear no talk of Tywin or his spawn being worthy of any of mine. The boy has made his way in the world now, and I suppose I must respect him for that. Indeed, any man whose exploits have given him the merits he has cannot be wholly ignored. But he will always be Tywin’s son. He would have used you ill, Brienne. Don’t forget that. You were an amusement for him, a way for him to disrupt our family and yet have a wife who would not complain when he stepped out. He is not capable of love, my girl. No one in that family is. He could not love you. Spend more time with him and you’ll see.”

Brienne did not budge, but only bore her eyes into her aunt’s. She knew Jaime’s love, his affection. Even if she were unsure of it still, which she could no longer be, she had seen his brother with his own wife. The sins of the father did not proceed with his sons. Both were capable of great love, and she the recipient of it. “My re-acquaintance with Captain Lannister is of some weeks, aunt - he was at Winterfell when I was there.”

Olenna’s nostrils flared and she leaned back away from her ward. “Catelyn admitted him to sniff around her girls’ skirts? Very odd indeed.”

“Both the Miss Starks are now engaged elsewhere, aunt--”

“I hope,” she interrupted, “that Lady Stark has not taken leave of all of her senses and has set correct expectations for those girls. Marriage, when the engagement is so short that the other’s character is still in question, can be dreadful. That is what I have worked to instill in all of you. You cannot make choices lightly in this life, Brienne. Planning is essential. Love is essential. My nephew was and is an unworthy cad. No amount of time, and no accolades, will change that. Your goodness will not turn him, my girl. You have love with us. If you must give up the freedom afforded by living here, then at least look to a man who is not already so illustrious, someone who not only has proven to be more subdued, but whose temperament more adequately matches your own, and who shows a real interest in your merits. Look to Mr. Hunt, for one. He at least has promise, and is not so egregiously offensive. And I do think you would be well-matched.”

Before Brienne could respond vehemently opposing such a match, Loras and Margaery entered the room with their coats in hand. Margaery approached with her glowing smile, hand outstretched for Olenna. “Do not tease Brienne about Mr. Hunt, grandmother.” She helped Olenna to her feet and handed her off to Loras. “Brienne knows her own heart,” she turned that smile on her cousin, “I think she would much rather stay and live with us wouldn’t you, Brienne?”

Brienne stood, towering over her cousin, and accepted her pelisse from her with a look of barely hidden disgust. Margaery leaned in conspiratorially, “At least before marrying Hyle. His looks are fine, but his conversation…” she rolled her eyes and drew out a small hesitant smile from Brienne. 

As they climbed into the carriage, the rain finally having abated, Loras caught her eye across the cab with an appreciative grin, “You look lovely, cousin.” Brienne smiled back and tried to drum up the same feeling of comfort in her own skin that she’d felt before her aunt had sought to crush her love under heel yet again. 

She sighed and caught a shade of her reflection in the glass as the city moved past. She would not be so easily cowed. She had loved one man in her life, and she would not lose him a second time. She would have Jaime, no matter the consequences of Olenna’s blind disdain. And tonight, with the general populace about, her opinions would be easily drowned out and disregarded once Brienne took Jaime’s arm. 

* * *

Once the rain had abated, Jaime walked leisurely from the club back to the townhouse he had taken in Oak Keep. It was an older part of the city, laid over the original grounds of Harrenhal’s godswood. He’d taken it with the precise purpose of being able to stay in town as long as necessary to court Brienne and make his intentions known. The location of the house was attractive - not too far from certain specialty shops and cafes, but far enough away that even the foot traffic was low. 

Jaime was lost in thought, replaying every detail of the last few hours in his mind, knowing he had the luxury to do so, as there were a few hours yet until the concert. Just as he turned onto his street, the wind picked up, and a decidedly unpleasant chill permeated the air and forced him to blow into his hand for warmth. He was reminded then of having held Brienne’s hands in his own before they parted ways; she had not been wearing gloves then, as he did not wear one now. Nor, he recalled, had she been wearing gloves yesterday when he had kissed her hand, her skin cold against his lips. Frustration and concern gripped him then. Why had no one seen to it that she have gloves to wear? Surely it was difficult for her to find ones that fit given that her hands were very nearly the size of his own. An idea struck him suddenly. 

Without hesitation, he changed course and walked several blocks in the opposite direction to the glover’s in the square. Once inside, Jaime had the shopkeeper assist him in trying on several gloves set aside for gentlemen, deciding on the finest pair of white gloves he could find, lined in soft fur, and snugger than he might usually wear. At his request, the glover took in the wrist a pinch and added small abalone buttons which glowed blue in the dying sunlight, reminding him of Brienne’s eyes. He then commissioned a second pair, long white kid gloves - for a lady, he told the man, to be made and delivered to Kingspyre Place in the exact same size, as a gift for Miss Brienne Tarth from an anonymous admirer, as to not embarrass her or subject her to scrutiny from the Tyrells by ascribing his name to the gift. 

He wrote out the address himself and then, taking the finished pair in hand, hurried finally to the townhouse to freshen up and change for the evening, for now he was short on time. The townhouse was elegantly decorated but between two servants, his simple needs were managed perfectly. The master suite with the canopy bed was spacious with a wide sitting area and a large fireplace that kept the chamber wonderfully warm in the cool evenings, and made the adjoining bathing room - where he’d made use of the large claw-footed tub on more than one occasion since the sight of Brienne’s glistening body had been seared into his mind - quite comfortable. The parlor downstairs was almost as wide as the one at Casterly Rock, and the house also boasted a nicely-stocked library and a small but comfortable breakfast room, each with their own hearth.

With a damp cloth he hastily washed as well as possible using a basin of formerly hot water which he’d let go tepid while dallying over which coat to wear that evening. Then he had the manservant assist him in quickly shaving two days’ worth of growth off of his face, and was grateful not to have cut or been cut in their haste. He had finally chosen a navy blue evening coat over his white shirt and silk cravat, paired with light colored breeches and tall black leather boots to match his high hat. Glancing quickly at his pocket watch he realized the lateness of the hour - if he did not hasten to leave, he would indeed be late. However, looking at the gloves in his hands, and thinking of being surrounded by so many strangers at the event, he felt moved to write her a note so that her knowledge of his intent behind the gift need not rely on the crowd conversing politely. 

_ So that your hands may always feel as warm as your tender heart _ .

He placed the note inside of a glove before folding it over the other and placing them carefully within his coat pocket.

As he waited for the coachman to pull round with the carriage, Jaime saw that his hand was shaking. He was anxious to see her again - eager, but also very nervous, vulnerable, tense at the idea of being so exposed. This was his chance to make his feelings known. This was the night she would either accept him as he was with all of his imperfections and excesses, or crush his hopes and send him spiraling down the path of loneliness and despondency once again.

_ I cannot think of that right now. Brienne cares for me. I have to believe she does. I know it. _

Taking a deep calming breath he steadied his nerves and climbed into the carriage, ready to face his demons, chief among them being his own self-doubt, and battle them as best he could; he would cross that chasm and give his heart to her, come what may. 


	23. Chapter 23

The Hall of the Hundred Hearths was the center of the arts and culture in Harrenhal. It housed two full-time galleries, a huge concert hall which served the instrumental, dance, and opera communities, a smaller hall for chamber performances, and two auditoriums for theatrical productions, and all were lit with multiple wide hearths which cast both light and heat into the space. 

The party from Kingspyre Place descended the steps of the carriage onto the grand stairs and made their way up the main hall to a rear gallery which acted as a lobby for the smaller concert hall, and which often housed temporary installations paired with the concert fair. The current installation featured antique stringed instruments recently recovered from a shipwreck in Blackwater Bay, restored, polished and restrung artificially to display them at their finest. None of the instruments were playable, but there would be plenty of that to come. The concert on offer was a quartet of harpists who were all acclaimed in their own right, but who toured Westeros together every other winter. 

Brienne was examining a particularly tall instrument when the Starks arrived and drew her into their circle. Mr. Waters had carried Bran up the stairs while Captain Payne had followed behind with his chair. Brienne made a mental note to see that ramps be installed in any home she lived in, so that Bran might always feel welcome. The crowd swelled a bit, and so she encouraged the Starks to come with her in rejoining the rest of the group. Olenna and Catelyn had an affectionate reunion, and Margaery fussed over Sansa and Arya both in light of their impending nuptials. 

* * *

It was half an hour until the performance and the doors had just opened to allow the audience to make their way into the venue. As the crowd began to move past their party, all huddled to one side awaiting lighter traffic for the sake of Bran’s chair, she finally spotted him. His golden hair shone and danced in the light of the hearths as he made his way toward her. Her breath caught when she saw that he wore an evening coat which approximated the hue of her gown. They were a matched pair, inside and out. He had finally shaved and she found, blushing, on imagining how he might kiss her later that evening, that she regretted it a little, but perhaps the less stimulation the better while they were in company. 

His eyes met hers over the heads of the crowd, shooting her heart up into her throat. Those eyes spoke all those feelings of earlier in the afternoon. She was right to feel certain of him. She was right to wish to defend him. And now she wanted desperately to write her love for him across his skin with her lips. 

Loras spotted Jaime just before he reached the group and called out to him, drawing him into the circle at the opposite end from Brienne where he could look straight ahead into her eyes and they might silently communicate both their pleasures and their exasperations. He greeted all who were gathered - Catelyn and Sansa both pressed his hand, Podrick and Gendry shook it amiably, Arya smirked at him from across the circle, Margaery smiled brightly at him, and Bran halloo’d him excitedly from his chair. 

Olenna was the last to acknowledge him once the others had gone back to their conversations, and Brienne strained to hear her words over the din. “Ah, yes, Jaime. Loras told me he invited you. You haven’t come to call at the house.”

Jaime set his smile as best he could. “No, aunt - I’m afraid I have been engaged in business, but I will call first thing tomorrow.”

“Never mind that. I couldn’t rightly keep you from calling at Casterly Rock, but the house in Kingspyre Place is my own. You may call if invited and not before.”

Brienne’s cheeks heated as she saw a twinge of bitterness cross Jaime’s countenance, and she sought to again meet his glance, to soothe his hurt with the balm of her affection, but he did not see her before Catelyn had inserted herself into the conversation, as if disregarding Olenna altogether, speaking quite rapidly. “Oh! Captain Lannister we are having a family dinner three nights hence. We have quite a large table and I would so like you to join us then. It will just be the family,” she turned to Brienne pleadingly, “Miss Tarth of course will join us with Lady Lannister and your cousins?” Brienne nodded immediately, surprised that Catelyn would plan a dinner party at all, but thrilled at the prospect of seeing Jaime among friends. “We’re at Number Five in Hunter Place, do promise me you’ll come.” She said the last most adamantly and Brienne gave him a look of encouragement, triggering his assent. 

“Yes of course. Number Five. On the twelfth, then?”

“Yes. We have an appointment at the dressmaker’s for Sansa the day before, and then the next day we’ll be toasting their engagements before Mr. Waters needs to leave to go back north ahead of us.”

“Very good, my lady. I shall be in attendance.”

“Wonderful.” At that, Catelyn turned to speak to Olenna on some other subject, completely disrupting the other woman’s ire. Seeing his opportunity, Jaime finally met her eyes again and then skirted the group and came around the circle to meet Brienne and finally stand within her reach. 

She looked at him anxiously as he approached, for the fire in his eyes seemed to have dimmed. She wished they might escape the hall now, find some quiet place to speak and finally be open with one another. But the opportunity for that had passed, as the crowd pushed in deeper and forced Jaime to step even closer to her. 

“Good evening, Brienne.”

Her name sounded like a symphony from his lips - deep whispered strains of a cello blooming with coloratura. 

“Good evening, Jaime.”

He half-smiled and drew a pair of soft white gloves from his coat pocket and held them out to her. “Mr. Marbrand asked that I deliver these. It seems you left them behind at the club this afternoon.”

Brienne looked at him curiously, and took the gloves. They were soft and white, lined with white rabbit’s fur and delicately stitched; the shell buttons would complement most of her wardrobe, but especially her blue gown and pelisse. They seemed of her size - large for a woman in the palm, but delicate in the wrist. There was no accounting for them, except they had to have been made personally for her. Her heart trilled as she stroked the delicate fur. 

Jaime leaned in slightly and whispered, “I hope I got your measurements right.”

He caught her eye then and she saw that he was in earnest. He’d had them made personally for her, likely that very day after they’d stood in the wind with cold hands between them. And she felt sure of the inspiration behind the buttons. She had been without appropriate gloves for some time. No one else had ever been so thoughtful. 

_ Oh Jaime. _

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Margaery eyeing the gloves, so Brienne reined in her expression. “Thank you, Captain Lannister. I just purchased these this afternoon and I would indeed have been saddened to have lost them. Please thank Mr. Marbrand for me, for recovering them.” This earned a conspiratorial smirk from Jaime as if thanking her for playing along and not balking at his publicly given gift, and a suspicious glare of surprise from Arya, who knew that Brienne had not in fact been to the glovers that afternoon. 

Jaime’s hand brushed hers and she looked down. Two of his fingers curled between two of hers in a secret private embrace. She felt her chest warm. She dragged her eyes back up his body and just before blue met green, there was a clammy hand lifting the hand which held the gloves and looping it around theirs, locking her tightly. 

“There you are my dear.” Brienne’s head snapped in the intruder’s direction and she felt Jaime’s fingers slip away from hers as her eyebrows drew together. 

“Oh. Mr. Hunt.”

“I expected you would be in rose and gold like your cousins, Brienne. I only barely spotted you. Thank the gods you’re so monstrously tall!”

Brienne gritted her teeth. “Oh good,” came Olenna’s voice from behind Jaime, “I’m glad to see  _ you’re  _ here, Hyle. Come escort Brienne and myself in. I don’t know why we’ve kept my old bones standing this long as it is.”

She turned her eyes from Hyle and looked appealingly towards her friends but none were looking in her direction. Only Jaime had eyes for her, and his were filled with something like hurt and sorrow. The same sorrow that had been in his eyes when--

_ Oh gods no, no, Jaime this is not like then. I defy her influence.  _

“Are you going to introduce me to your friend, Brienne?”

Her name sounded like a sour horn in Hyle’s mouth. There was no melody to it, no music at all. Just a fractured note from an untalented soloist. She ignored him and looked despondently at Jaime, begging him to guide her, but he seemed lost inside himself. 

“Well Capt—“

“Come Brienne.” Olenna’s voice was firm.

The group began to peel off around her. She tried to catch Jaime’s eye, but her arm was pulled and the rest of the group pushed in behind her. As she was caught in the human tide, she turned back to look at Jaime, begging him with her eyes to follow, but she quickly lost sight of him.


	24. Chapter 24

Brienne had taken the gloves from him so tenderly, her eyes warmed with some emotion he could not quite be certain of now, glowing in her eyes. She appeared to be so pleased with the gesture, and when she had played along with his small deception his heart had overflowed with love for her. She must have seen it, felt it emanating from him like a blazing fire. Two of her fingers were still lovingly entwined in his when a dark-haired man, his tight curls a full head shorter than Brienne, had approached entirely too closely and taken possession of her other arm to loop it into his own. Jaime’s stomach had dropped at the intimacy in that gesture, done so casually, as if it had been practiced many times before. Those first words out of that man’s mouth had made his heart stop stone still.  _ There you are my dear,  _ he had said with so much familiarity that Jaime’s blood once unstoppered ran first cold, and then boiling hot. Jealousy roared in him like a lion readying himself to obliterate the encroaching threat.

_ How dare he touch her? How dare he claim her thus, when my soul insists that she and I are joined? When we were at that moment physically joined…  _ How _ could she allow it?  _ Why _ does she allow it?  _

The only explanation was that this man had to have been courting Jaime’s only heart’s desire, at least since her arrival at Harrenhal. All this while, she had been pursued by another, and he had foolishly thought her heart unfettered, his. He had not acted quickly or aggressively enough. In following the rules of convention, the rules he thought society expected him to follow, he might very well have missed his chance; he might have permitted this curiously unextraordinary man to come between him and his future happiness, to separate him from the woman he loved with every ounce of his being.

_ Who is he? Where does he come from? How could she want someone so uncouth as to call her monstrous in front of an entire assembly of people? How could she want someone so ill-suited for her? She is a queen, he a common peasant in comparison.  _

Jaime watched helplessly as the obviously inadequate and oblivious rival suitor successfully steered Brienne away from him with a hand to her back, and the crowd closed in behind her. Olenna had seemed very pleased that this  _ Hyle _ was present and joining their party. She also appeared not to disapprove of his hand on Brienne’s person. Olenna still disliked Jaime, but she clearly approved of Hyle. She most certainly then, must also approve of a match between them, if not for its own sake, then to keep her from Jaime. He knew how much Brienne respected and loved his aunt for the woman had raised her, taken her in and protected her when there was no one else to do so. His heart grew heavy knowing that Brienne might feel obligated to please Olenna in any way she thought she could and reprise her actions of ten years ago.

The mass of bodies seemed doubly vast as they continued to form a human barrier between them, and eventually, obscured her from view as they pushed Brienne into the confines of the concert hall. The enormous ornately carved doors swung closed with a heavy bang before him, seeming an ominous portent. 

He stood there for several minutes, heart lodged in his throat, sorrow gripping at his chest, fear swimming in his belly, and jealousy raging through his veins. He was overcome and knew not how to act. What would be appropriate, acceptable for him to do in this circumstance?

_ Should I open the door? Should I go in to find her? Brienne, please.  _

Oh, he could not abide this any longer, he was no gentleman and anything he could think to do or say at this moment would only make him less appealing in the eyes of all around him, and surely bring Brienne heartache and shame.

_ I cannot be here. I must leave. I must go home and deliberate.  _

And so he did.

* * *

  
Once inside the chamber, the group moved to the center section and kindly filed in ahead of Brienne so that she might take the aisle for the leg room. This gave her time to dart her eyes into every corner, searching for him while Hyle chattered on unheard. Her hands were cold and she realized she was still clutching Jaime’s gift. She kept looking about distractedly while she pulled on one, and then the other. 

They fit perfectly, or would have had not the application of the second been impeded by something within. She peeled it off and peered inside. There was a small card of some kind there, and she thought perhaps it had been left by the glover. But when she pulled it out, she found that it was a note folded in half. 

_ So that your hands may feel as warm as your tender heart. _

It was unsigned, but there was no question in her heart as to from whence it had come.

She made a distracted apology to Hyle and told him she had dropped something and would return, and then bolted from the room. When she got back to the gallery, she hoped to catch his figure, to find him and beg him not to leave, to take her hand and take her with him. But she only saw the door at the end of the empty gallery swinging closed. 

She stood there in the hall, surrounded by the ancient useless instruments. She wanted to play their impossible songs and somehow turn back the hands of the clock to when he had first arrived and drag him out of that room quickly before all else came to pass. She wanted to tear them from the walls and ground them to dust. 

The air was heavy around her and she gasped as if drowning, falling, falling for an age. Tears gathered in her eyes and threatened to fall but not before she made out the watery figure of Catelyn Stark approaching her. She was standing over her. 

_ When did Catelyn get so tall? _

“Brienne? Brienne. Look at me.”

_ When did I sit down? _

“Are you hurt?”

Catelyn finally came into focus, and she could see that Arya was lingering a few feet away, worrying her lower lip anxiously. She shook her head and then looked at the girl. “I’m alright, Arya. Truly. Go back inside.” The girl nodded and went back through the doors, the first strains of the concert floating through and then silencing as it closed. 

“Brienne?”

Brienne looked at her friend, crouched down next to her, holding her hand. 

“How did you--”

“--Arya saw that you ran back out and followed you. When she saw you fall, she ran back for me.”

Brienne realized then that she must have fallen to her knees and crumpled to the ground - a sight that must have been startling to the girl. 

“Catelyn...Jaime, he…” she held the note tightly in her hand, and now the tears did fall, and Catelyn knelt forward and held Brienne against her, soothing her hair. 

“I know, Brienne. Gods help me, I know.”

“You do? Catelyn--”

“I’m so sorry, Brienne.” Lady Stark was not teary, but her voice was strained. “I’m sorry for what I did then. I was so sure that you and Robb… it doesn’t matter, I suppose. I should not have gotten involved. I was wrong. I wronged the two of you. I only hope you can forgive me for being so blind. I would not have encouraged Sansa with him had I opened my eyes. Brienne, no one who sees the way he looks at you could doubt him now. I’m so sorry.”

“But he... “ a sob crawled up her chest and was expelled into her friend’s shoulder as she held her. 

“He loves you, dearest. He does. And I understand. Olenna’s tongue is sharp as ever. He’ll come around.” 

“I thought to follow him. I… I would follow him.” 

Catelyn rocked her, hushing her as she had her children. “All will be well, Brienne. Give him room tonight. I’m sure it’s just the assault of Olenna’s pride on him. All will be well. Remember - he has promised to come to dinner three nights from now, if he does not come and fall at your feet before then. Give him time.”

Brienne nodded miserably. Catelyn rose and stepped back inside for a moment to speak with her daughters, and then she returned and escorted Brienne down to collect their coats, and into a hired cab to see her home where she could sleep through her anxious sorrow. 

* * *

Jaime sat before the hearth and tried to work himself out of this paralyzing state of indecision. He tried to persuade himself first to act one way and then in another, depending on what he thought Brienne would want from him. He searched and searched his mind for the answer. But it never came.

Sleep was nigh impossible. He tossed all night thinking over what more he could do to secure Brienne’s affections, but come morning he was no closer to the answer. With a heavy sigh that almost matched the leaden weight of his heart, he dressed himself and walked in a trance-like state to The Bear Pit. Activity and exertion would help him clear his thoughts, and the promise of violence, the kind of well-honed deadly violence he was used to wielding so well, appealed greatly to his raging emotions.

_ I will speak with Addam and I will spar until my demons are subdued well enough for me to act like a man with some sense. Brienne would want that. Brienne deserves that. _


	25. Chapter 25

Brienne slept soundly, though not peacefully. 

In the morning she woke from unremembered dreams with only the faintest recollection of a hand entwined with hers, but her bed linens showed signs of disruption, having half fallen to the floor before she could wake. Sunlight banished the sleep from her eyes but she dragged the knitted blanket up over her form again, trying to recapture the warmth and safety of slumber. When she could no longer bear the increasing brightness of the room, she rose wearily from her bed and went about her morning routine. 

She made her way downstairs in a dove grey dress suiting her mood and found the breakfast room vacant save for the maid who was preparing to remove the spread earlier than usual. Brienne secured some toast and marmalade, before the girl retreated from the room with the excess, but not before Brienne learned from her that Lady Olenna and the Tyrell siblings had already gone out. The day was warmer than it appeared and though it was not yet nine in the morning, they had departed in a carriage for a tour of the ruins just outside the city walls. 

She thought it odd that while Catelyn had escorted her home the night before, they had stayed out and yet already recovered from their evening enough to spend part of the day out of doors. But as it preserved the air of silence about the house and gave her solitude with her thoughts, she did not second-guess it.  She sat pleasantly enough in the sunny breakfast room for half an hour, slowly contemplating the repast and combing through the events of the previous two days. 

She knew that Jaime loved her, either again or without pause from before, as she did him. She was sure of him. Catelyn had seen it too. Catelyn who had been so kind, who had given her care when she needed it most. “I knew when you returned to send me to Maidenpool,” she’d said in the carriage. “You were a wall of strength for me then. And when you spoke of Jaime I finally saw my folly. Yet there was nothing to be done then - you had both already put Sansa before your own hearts, and I was the last person in the world who would have wished to dissuade you from that in that moment. And so my apologies had to be stemmed until there could be no other impediment, no other duty which might interfere.”

Catelyn’s reassurances had kept Brienne’s heart beating and lessened her tears. Hope was not lost, she only had to find a way to recover it, to assure Jaime that she would not be misguided by Olenna or any other person; the idea of such misunderstandings drove an arrow of guilt through her heart. If only she knew where he was staying, she would go to him - convention and propriety be damned. If only he might call now that the others were out of the house, she could show him her heart; she would hold him to her and never let go. 

As if on cue, the bell rang below. 

* * *

The thought of Jaime waiting at the door, ready to accept her and press her to him, had her flying down the stairs, unceremoniously shooing the butler away, and throwing open the door herself. 

But she felt her body cringe when the person on the stoop had neither the aspect nor the appeal of the man she had desperately wished to see since his departure the previous night. In fact Mr. Hunt was quite the opposite. She knew him to be a rational man, polished and proper, and so a call from him before the noon hour was a shock beyond the disappointment of his not being the man she wanted. Mr. Hunt had never shown any burst of feeling, or warmth of indignation or delight in anything. His presence of mind never varied, indeed his tongue never slipped. She had, for some days now, believed him to be entirely too practiced in his manners for her tastes, and yet here he was calling at Kingspyre place outside of appropriate hours. Brienne could not account for it, but then she too had acted out just then by denying the butler his duty and now found herself unable to claim to not be at home to the visitor. 

Hyle craned his neck to give her an amiable smile which to her seemed cold now compared to Jaime’s impassioned glances, and allowed himself an increment of pleased surprise in his brow at seeing her throwing the door open for him. 

“Miss Tarth,” he began, moving another step upwards, “how kind of you to greet me. I am glad to find you at home. Might I come in? I would so hate for you to catch a chill.”

Brienne was torn between playing the good hostess and wishing this man away from her at once. She did her best. “I think you’ll find I have a terribly healthy constitution, sir. And it is a warm day.”

“Oh indeed, indeed, but were you not ill last night? Should we tempt the Stranger so?”

She was trapped between lies. “I am afraid the rest of the family is from home, Mr. Hunt. You shan’t find me terribly entertaining this morning as I am indeed still recovering from yesterday evening. I only came to the door because Renly had to step away and I was expecting a parcel,” another lie upon a lie. 

“Oh yes? I do hope you’ll see the butler reprimanded. I assume he is not on your regular staff.”

“Sir?”

“Did he come with you from Casterly Rock or—“

“—oh! No. Lady Olenna hired Renly here in town.”

“Ah, that is well. I am sure she will see to it then.”

“Well, I—“

“—Miss Tarth, I do have something I might ask your opinion on. Might I be permitted inside. We may sit by the hearth and mind your health.”

Brienne could not see a way around admitting him, and so she did, apologizing to the startled Renly as they passed. 

She guided Hyle to the drawing room which had an arched entrance rather than a door. Here at least she might hope to be interrupted by the staff. She perched on the sofa nearest the hearth and her unwanted guest sat across from her in the high-backed chair, giving him the appearance of a wealthy landowner or lord, and it occurred to her then that she was not terribly sure of his occupation. He was a gentleman to be sure, and his opinions were well-informed enough, but he did not have the air of an intellectual nor the frivolity of a man entirely at his leisure. 

“Brienne—“

She bristled. “Mr. Hunt.”

“Please. Aren’t we familiar enough now that you might use my given name? Please call me Hyle, Brienne.”

“I have not given you leave to do the same, Mr. Hunt. I do not wish to be indelicate but I also do not believe ourselves to be so familiar. I would have you call me Miss Tarth.”

“Are we not so familiar!? Miss Tarth,” he said with caution, “I would so like to call you something else very soon if only you would give answer to my suggestion.”

“Suggestion, sir? I thought you begged entrance because you meant to ask mine on some matter, did you not?”

“Truly I had hoped you might have a positive reply for mine.”

Brienne felt her patience reaching its end. She wanted none of either this man’s time or riddles. “I do not take your meaning sir. What suggestion have you offered, and on what subject? There has been a great deal of conversation between these walls and I am afraid my ears have not always been dedicated to everyone else’s passing notions.”

Hunt looked into the fire and chuckled. “Brienne, for I shall call you Brienne when I ask this again, I had suggested last night - and even before that - that we might us two make a pair; that I might be permitted to cherish you for all days henceforward.”

Brienne’s blood ran as cold as Hunt’s calculated voice in the offering. “I am not sure--”

“--I wish for you to become my wife, Brienne.”

Suddenly, unexpectedly, the chill in her veins reached her heart. This was no longer a social call. She no longer had to be pleasant or a welcoming host. She might dismiss him at any moment, his suit rejected. She would not deny that she was surprised and flattered by the proposal, for she knew her looks and appeal and had never fooled herself into believing she could be desired except by the heart which she knew beat for her, but she was equally unflattered by the style of this man’s address and by the man presenting it. “Mr. Hunt—“

“I do believe we could pass an amiable time together, Brienne. I believe we are well-matched, and your aunt agrees.”

“Then marry her, sir! I will have naught to do with it!”

“Brienne!” he chuckled, as if her denial of him was an opinion and not a statement. He reached forward and clasped her hand, only to have her twist and wrench away from him. He looked at her now with an edge of alarm. “Do you not think we could be content, my dear? You and I might not be wholly suited for town, it’s true, but then we could go back to Casterly Rock together and live quite nicely in the country.”

This was too much. First he claimed to wish to marry her, with no affection whatsoever in his demeanor, but now he seemed to be suggesting that they go and live in the home to which she was already dedicating her heart in the cause of. This would not be borne. She had the love of a lion; she could never concede to live any kind of life, nor any further amount of time, with this vole of a man. 

She stood up to her full height, her eyes raining fire down on him, her voice edged with disgust. “Mr. Hunt, you overstep quite forcefully! By what right do you claim Casterly Rock?”

Hunt started. “By yours, Brienne, of course. By your right. I was surprised that Lady Olenna would make her home here instead of remaining where it’s assuredly cozier and less populated with guests she does not wish to entertain, but as she has, the estate is vacant, yes? Why let it remain so? No doubt Lady Olenna would give you the means to live there if you asked it. Brienne, think of your future. Why seek to live with your family for the rest of your life when you have one good chance for freedom with me?”

The pieces of this ordinary-mannered brown-colored puzzle finally dropped into place. No wonder he seemed objectively marveled by her but took no interest in her desire to improve herself. No wonder he had latched on to the family and had manners so practiced. And no wonder he seemed to have no profession and yet gave himself the air of a man ten times his worth. Mr. Hunt was a cad by the strictest definition. A fortune-hunter. A swindler. He made himself appear as the man he wished to be, but now his cards were face up. This was the man from whom Olenna and Catelyn had tried to protect her all those years ago. This was who they thought Jaime would turn out to be. This man, who was unworthy even to polish Jaime’s boots. 

Brienne laughed. 

And laughed. 

She could not recall the last time she had laughed so carelessly, but she could not help it.

This man had done just enough research to somehow identify her from Maidenpool as a member of a Lannister household, to discover the seat of that House, and then used his charms - if they could be so called - to ingratiate himself with the family and play to her anxieties and the gaps in her self-esteem. He was a rogue of the worst kind - one who had enough money to live but who would impose on a vulnerable person in order to increase that wealth for himself. He was despicable. And he would have neither Casterly Rock nor her.

The muscles in her cheeks burned from her laughter. She opened her eyes, her unbridled laugh still echoing in the room, to see that Hyle was smiling as well but, as always, calculated and cool, apparently still misunderstanding her.

“Brienne, you will make me--”

“Stop it. Stop.” She rang the bell for Renly and marched to the room’s entrance. “Mr. Hunt you are no longer welcome in this house.”

He stood, startled, “I don’t understand. Brienne, you--”

“I told you before. You shall call me Miss Tarth, though I believe you will indeed call me nothing henceforth, for you are not welcome here, or in any home where I reside be it in town or yes - indeed - at Casterly Rock itself. I can only suspect by what machinations you found me alone this morning, but I can promise you that the opportunity shall not be repeated - not with me, and not with anyone else of my acquaintance.”

“Miss Tarth, I think you misunderst--”

“I understand you perfectly, Mr. Hunt. You are a serpent.”

“I--”

“I strongly suggest that you take yourself from this house and from this city, and do not look back. Whichever friends of yours recommended a play for Casterly Rock - and I know it must have been your friends and not by your own devices, for you have not the talent of discernment - sent you on a fool’s errand. That estate is indeed the seat of Lady Olenna’s house, but it is neither hers nor her grandchildren’s to dispense with. Indeed the heir stood before you last night and you were too convinced of your plotting that you did not know it.”

Hunt was sputtering when the butler appeared at her elbow.

“Renly, Mr. Hunt is leaving. Please see that he gets all of his belongings. He will not be admitted to this house again.”

Renly nodded and stepped aside for Hyle to walk ahead of him. 

The spurned man had turned purple under the collar, and his eyes were lit with smoke and flame. “You will never--”

“--Speak again in this house and your tongue will be at the mercy of a sword. Do not tempt me to shew you up, Mr. Hunt. Your reputation cannot risk that embarrassment now.”

He sneered at her and then, shifting back to a practiced look of disinterest, straightened his shoulders and was marched from the room. 

Brienne dropped onto the sofa with a sigh of relief. She did not yet know what she would say to her aunt who had, no doubt, arranged with Hyle to be out of the house that morning for him to make his addresses. After some thought, she determined that she would say nothing at all. Should the subject arise, she might respond to it, but with any luck the subject of Mr. Hunt would no longer invade their lives. 

She leaned back and took a deep breath, only for the bell to ring again. This time she did not run for it. 

_ Patience. Jaime will yet come. Have patience _ . 

After a moment or two, the butler re-entered the room, not with word of a visitor, but with a parcel. “A delivery from one of the shops for you, Miss Tarth.” He set it down on the sideboard and departed the room at her nod. 

Brienne hesitated as if the unknown object might slither out of its box and bite her, suspicious that her lie of a quarter of an hour ago had somehow come to fruition. It would not be from Mr. Hunt, that was a relief at least. Perhaps it was from Catelyn and her children, some kind of boon for her disposition until she could see them again on the morrow. She finally stood and approached the sideboard. 

It took only a few seconds for her mood to change entirely. There was no card, but the address was written on the top in the same scrawled hand which had written  _ so that your hands may feel as warm as your tender heart  _ the night before, and dated yesterday. She stripped the long thin box of its ribbon closure, removed the lid, and gasped. Long in the finger, wide in the palm, narrow in the wrist, and flared at the end of the forearm, there lay a pair of long soft white kid gloves, the kind women wore in the evening,  _ or to their wedding _ .  _ _


	26. Chapter 26

The Bear Pit was bustling with patrons, many of whom were paired off and sparring in various corners of the main room. Passing a few of them who appeared to be deeply engaged in conversation, Jaime arrived at Addam’s office door which had been left ajar just enough for him to see his friend bent over his desk and scribbling away at his ledger with a frown of concentration on his face; Jaime knocked, and Addam looked up.

“Jaime, is that you dear friend? Please come in.” Addam was still frowning, which was a very unusual expression on someone that found amusement in almost any circumstance.

“You look as poorly as I feel, Marbrand. Is all well?” Jaime’s voice was hoarse from a night of turbulent sleep and choking back his emotions.

Addam considered his friend, toying with the quill in his hand. “I have just now overheard something quite distressing that I would share with you. But first, tell me what ever is the matter with _ you _, for you look positively haunted.” As he said this, Addam reached across the desk and squeezed Jaime’s forearm with a look of grave concern on his face.

“Perhaps, _ I _look as poorly as I feel as well, if my worries are so easily discernible. I have come to ask you for your thoughts on a matter that has addled my mind so completely that I know not what to think.” Jaime pushed his stump firmly up against the side of the desk so that he could feel the grain of the edging pulling on the fabric of his coat and rubbing against the sensitive furrows of his scar. “Miss Tarth, whom you have met and whom, I can only assume, you have already assessed to be the object of my affections was naturally at the concert last evening with my cousin Loras and the family”

Addam’s frown momentarily lifted and was replaced by a small upturning at the sides of his mouth, which he quickly hid behind his hand before schooling his features and replying, “Well, tis true that I had my speculations on the nature of your relationship, Jaime. You two do spar exceptionally well together. And then, there is the way in which you look upon one another, as if clothing were no barrier at all. Even I was blushing.” Addam raised his eyebrows as if daring Jaime to contradict him.

“Addam, do not speak of the lady thus. She is quite proper and innocent. If you observed anything untoward it must have been in response to my bad manners for I do provoke her something fierce. You as well as anyone know that I cannot comport myself for very long, especially, it would seem, when I am around her. She stirs my passions quite vehemently.” Jaime sighed and scrubbed his hand over his face.

“Pardon me, my old friend, I mean the lady no offense. On the contrary, I commend her on her excellent taste. Having seen you two together made me go searching for our old correspondence from before your commission. You’d mentioned a potential proposal of marriage to a Miss Tarth at the time, and a subsequent refusal. I can only assume this lady is one and the same. You suffered dearly by her hand then. Yet I see now why you would want to renew your addresses. She seems an extraordinary woman. I do hope to someday tell her so myself, perhaps when she comes back to the club to spar with me. She is quite the skilled swordswoman too, and I know I shall enjoy myself immensely.” At this, Addam took down his hand from his mouth and let Jaime see the amused look he was sporting at his expense.

“You cannot rouse my jealousy Addam for someone else has already claimed that privilege. Last night at the concert a certain Mr. Hyle Hunt took Brienne right out of my hand and escorted her away, as if she already belonged to him. She did not object, not in the slightest, which leads me to believe that they have formed an attachment.” Jaime scowled and pushed his stump harder against the edge of the desk until he felt a searing pain shoot up his arm. “What I do not comprehend is why she would be enticed by such a man, for there is nothing in him that would incite the interest of any woman, much less hers. Nor can I assimilate why she would look at me with such affection, tenderness, and interest if she is already spoken for. Miss Tarth is by all accounts not the sort of lady to toy with anyone’s affections, least of all mine. Despite the evidence before me, I cannot convince myself that she does not care for me. And yet…” Jaime shook his head and turned to Addam for assistance.

His friend was now looking at him with no small degree of hostility. “Did you say the man’s name is Hunt?” 

“Yes… why do you say it with such disdain? Do you know the man?”

Addam seemed to hesitate but only to gather his ire. “Not only do I know him, but I know where he is at this very moment. That man is a patron of my club and not ten minutes before you came in to speak with me I overheard him voicing slanderous untruths about your lady right here in my establishment. It appears he believes Miss Tarth to be connected to the Casterly Rock fortune through your aunt, and has pursued her in the hopes that she might make his living situation more comfortable. I found his interest in her to be very disingenuous and the manner of his conversation to be quite distasteful. I was just compiling notes on the subject when you came in, for I like to keep a record of my patrons’ mis-steps should their removal become necessary. Your timing is impeccable.”

Jaime felt his temper rising and his heart began to thrum in his ears loudly as a surge of blood rushed to his head. “He is here at this very moment? Sparring? Will you take me to him? I believe I must address this matter with him immediately.”

Addam nodded curtly and stood to escort him out of the door and towards the main floor. They strode shoulder to shoulder as Addam weaved them efficiently around several partitions to the remote part of the room near the back doors. Once there, Jaime spotted Hunt who had just laid down his sword and was shaking his opponent’s hand in defeat.

Hunt turned, feeling eyes on him, and startled when he saw that both Jaime and Addam were staring at him intently. Hunt’s was a look of nervous curiosity when he said, “Mr. Marbrand and… I believe I met you last evening sir, although I was not properly introduced. How may I help you gentlemen?” He gave them a sickeningly ingratiating and practiced smile that made Jaime’s anger flare all the more.

Telling himself that he had to be clever in his approach in order to garner more information from the lout, Jaime returned the smile, though it pained him, and strolled over confidently but with deliberate slowness, shortening his steps to give himself time to rein in his temper enough to choose his next words carefully. “Yes, we did meet. And I did catch _ your _ name last night, Mr. Hunt, was it? But you escorted Miss Tarth away so briskly she never had the opportunity to give you mine. My name is Jaime,” he said, holding back his connection to the family, “glad to meet you!”

_ So that I may better know what manner of man would toy so grievously with my lady. _

Jaime held out his hand and shook the wide-eyed man’s with a grip perhaps several pounds of force firmer than strictly necessary. “So, you are well acquainted with Miss Tarth I gather?” he said trying not to grit his teeth.

“We have been in the same company for some weeks now. She is a very....unique woman. Do _ you _ know the lady well, sir?” Jaime’s hand itched as it yearned to slap the smirk off of Hunt’s face.

“Yes, one could presume.” Jaime paused a moment before forcing himself to acquire a friendlier tone. “You feel that she is unique? I would not disagree with you there. She is very unique. Some have called her extraordinary.”

Hunt laughed contemptuously, completely misunderstanding the intent of Jaime’s words, “Oh yes, _ quite _ extraordinary. Have you ever seen a woman of that stature and build anywhere before? I was quite startled when I first beheld her. She is so monstrously tall.”

Jaime squeezed his fist tight to his side. “Yes, yes you said so before at the concert. She is tall, to be sure. But monstrous? It did not seem you thought her monstrous last evening as you escorted her away on your arm. It appeared as if you were very familiar and quite fond of the lady.”

Hunt’s smirk turned sour. “Yes, well she does possess some valuable assets, connections that are much more tempting than that unsightly face and ungainly body. So tempting in fact that I was ready to give up my aesthetic preferences entirely, and doom myself to look upon that face every day hereafter, if necessary. As for the nights, well sir, a man like yourself must surely know, when the candles are snuffed out anyone can be imagined beautiful, and a warm body feels just as good as any other.”

Jaime felt his chest tighten and scorching heat radiated into his face. His breathing slowed and his reflexes heightened and honed in on his target. Lunging into the scoundrel with a fury he had never felt before in his life, Jaime stepped and pivoted with his right leg so that his left arm swung up cutting through the air with the full force of his body propelling it. He heard the crunch of Hunt’s chin as it made direct contact with his clenched fist. The man’s head snapped back before Jaime pivoted and swung again. This time his fist made contact with the miscreant’s cheekbone not once, but twice.

Jaime saw the man’s body drop down onto the hard wooden floor and he instinctively fell to his knees to continue exercising his vengeance. Striking a vicious blow to his nose, Jaime extracted a spray of blood that splattered his hand and coat. And it was not until he felt Addam’s strong arms pulling him back off of Hunt, that he noticed that the dastardly scoundrel had not moved at all since having hit the ground.

“Jaime, stop, you are going to kill him. Stop. Please. Think of Brienne. You must stop.”

It was only the sound of Brienne’s name, like a plea, an appeal to sense and caution, that helped Jaime cool his head, still his hand, and restrain himself from struggling out of Addam’s hold. Panting heavily, Jaime sat down hard upon the ground and put his head into his shaking, sorely bruised, and bloodied hand.

Hunt stirred and took some time to regain enough composure to lift his head marginally and wipe the blood off of his face with his sleeve. Seeing that Jaime had given up the fight, Addam took this opportunity to yank Hunt up onto his feet and escort him out of the establishment. Along the way, Addam vociferously chastised and threatened the charlatan for behaving so ungentlemanly towards a lady, and made sure that all of the patrons understood the reason for his expulsion and appearance.

Jaime remained on the ground, and could only think of Brienne, and how she would not forgive him for his loss of control and violent retribution. He did not regret his actions but he did fear the consequences. All of the rage he had felt before dissipated and transformed into a slithering serpent of dread in his belly, coiling and uncoiling itself, wriggling around until he felt nauseous; it ate at him slowly but steadily until he began to feel disemboweled.

Addam returned and helped his friend up off of the floor. He put one arm around Jaime’s shoulders and used the other to closely examine his hand. Flexing it back and forth, Addam tested it for fractured or dislocated bones, but finding only superficial abrasions and swelling which would bruise and then fade.

Jaime sat in Addam’s office and waited for him to return with hot water, towels, and bandages. He felt himself starting to go away inside as his emotions threatened to overwhelm him but he made himself focus on the delicately carved inkwell sitting in front of him on the desk. He studied every minute detail and made himself hold the shape in his mind when his thoughts felt like they would slip away from him. This was a time that he needed to be present no matter the emotional cost. If Hunt spoke to Brienne before Jaime had an opportunity to do so, he could spin the tale to his advantage and make Jaime out to be the villain. He could not allow for that to happen. Brienne needed to know the truth and make her decision accordingly.

Addam walked into the room and helped Jaime wash his hand in a warm basin of water and dry it on a towel, before winding strips of clean cloth around his palm and knuckles, tying a knot to secure the fabric from slipping off. All the while, Addam searched his face to assess the emotional damage. “If Hunt attempts to involve the authorities, or if he tells Brienne anything other than the truth, I will come to your defense. You must know this.”

Jaime felt a surge of brotherly love towards this man he had known most of his life. “Of course, I know I can rely on your assistance in any matter. I thank you for all you have already done for me, and for Brienne. You are the best of friends and a man of excellent character.”

A genuine smile the likes of which Jaime had not seen on his face since he was a small boy, spread across Addam’s face. “You were always the better friend. It is the least I can do.” Addam pressed a hand to Jaime’s shoulder and squeezed it affectionately, even as Jaime’s countenance fell again.

“What am I going to do, Addam? How am I going to explain all of this to Brienne in a way that will help her comprehend my actions?” His voice grew hoarse. “Worse still, what if it what I have done is of no great consequence because she does not care for me? What if she finds me too offensive and too reprehensible? What if she deems me unworthy of her, for surely I know that I am? I cannot live without her Addam. She is my whole heart. She is my happiness walking around in the world outside of my body.” Jaime felt the tears sting his eyes and the dread in his belly rose up into his chest and lodged behind his breastbone so that his lungs became constricted with fear.

“I think you have to do what you must... you must tell her how you feel. Tell her all of it. Write it down so that everything there is to know is there on the page for her to examine. Write her a letter and make it as plain as possible what your intentions are and where your affections reside.” Addam pushed the inkwell and quill towards him. “There is some paper under the ledger. Stay and use my office if you would like.”

Jaime shook his head. “No, I must gather my thoughts. This will take me some time to write. I was not very proficient with my left before, but now that I am thus injured it will be a blessing if I am able to finish the letter before daybreak tomorrow. Thank you again, my friend. I will see you tomorrow with good tidings or ill.”


	27. Chapter 27

It was late afternoon by the time her family returned, at which point Brienne had taken Jaime’s gift upstairs and spent time tracing the writing of both the label and the note already in her possession. 

She regretted every proper emotion she had ever allowed Hunt. She felt betrayed by Olenna for having believed that he was in any way suited to her. And she hated that Jaime might be somewhere feeling uncertain, feeling unassured by her, when she held his own assurances in her hands. Had they not been separated long enough? Had not their hearts suffered sufficient torture? How she wished that her desire for him could be as a magnet and draw him with all his forthrightness and teasing and passions to her chamber now, or conversely lead her to him that she might actuate her intentions, no matter the consequences. 

She would see him in two days’ time, for he had promised Lady Stark his attendance at dinner.

_ If only I might see him sooner _ . 

A plan came into her mind then. When Catelyn and the girls came to collect her and Margaery in the morning, Brienne would beg Catelyn invite her to stay in Hunter Place for a few days so that she might be away from this house, so that after dining with Jaime and being granted a measure of time in which to make her assurances, she need not return right away to this den of misunderstanding. She might then see Jaime again at her leisure, supported and surrounded by their allies. Or perhaps with a day’s time in between she might have an opportunity of finding and speaking with him even before then. 

Eventually she rejoined the group downstairs for dinner as if nothing had changed - as if she remained residually unwell from the night before, as if Hyle Hunt had never appeared on their doorstep, and indeed as if she might go on living there without complaint, when in fact she had already packed her valise, leaving behind in the wardrobe those articles which had been designed as if to keep her a spinster for her remaining years, and packing only those which embraced and flattered her form. She had tucked the white kid gloves he had gifted her into her coat pocket for the next day, but packed the warmer pair along with her extra pair of slippers, and her other effects. She had already packed with the intent of never returning. 

* * *

Once home, Jaime changed out of his bloody coat and sat down to write by candlelight in the quiet, dark, almost tomb-like enclosure of the study. He felt the dread in his chest expanding and rising up into his throat now, making it difficult to swallow the glass of brandy he had poured to help ease his nerves. Hand aching and slightly trembling, Jaime dipped the pen into the inkwell and willed his mind to put words to the feelings that tried to overpower him.

The dread he felt originated from the belief that Brienne would reject him once again. The darkest part of his mind believed that she was right to reject him and that she should, for her own good. The truth was that he had never felt worthy of her, and less so now that he was maimed physically and emotionally. He had accomplished much in his life, and yet, his confidence in himself had diminished as he grew to accept all of his limitations and faults. Brienne was far superior to him in character, demeanor, morality, clarity of thought, judgement, and in innumerable other ways. Jaime could live ten lifetimes and never be deemed worthy enough to deserve her.

_ I am a wretched creature to want to attach myself to her like a putrid barnacle. _

He would ruin her with his excesses and all-consuming passions. Surely, she would come to resent him if she agreed to stay by his side. But this was a chance he would have to take. For when he thought about what life would be like without her a deep sadness washed over him. Could he really see her in the arms of another? It would never be in the arms of Hyle for he meant to send him to his final resting place before that could ever take place. Would it be worse to see her alone and relegated to the role of perpetual family companion? She was a fiery, strong, and capable woman, it would destroy him to see her flame snuffed out slowly, and her strength sieved from her, year after year in that sort of confined living arrangement. He did not think he could stand to live near her if she was not his wife.

_ What will I do if she refuses me? What kind of life can I lead without her? _

Sadness deepened into something like desperation and a panicky feeling took hold of his mind. The words he needed to express would not come, for there was only a void where his thoughts should reside.

Jaime closed his eyes and allowed himself to dive into that void.

_ Nothingness. Numb. Floating. Disembodied. Dark. _

No. This was wrong. He had to search for something.

In the darkness he perceived dark waves, large and undulating, growing steadily, threatening to engulf him. There was wind in his hair, whipping it about his cheeks and eyes violently. A wooden railing was there and he gripped it tight but his hand was aching, perhaps there had been a battle. Was he injured? Yes, he felt a deep ache in his chest, he was not well. Was the ship swaying or was that him? It was hard to breathe here.

Out here in this turbulence, always adrift, without her he would always be at sea.

The sea, yes, that was the answer. The navy. He could still be useful out here. He would sail away and never come back. He would be helpful to the cause and die out in this dark sea without her.

Without her. The ache in his chest grew until he felt his heart might stop beating altogether.

A sound erupted from him, like a moan, perhaps it was a wail, but certainly it sounded like death. He was dying.

It was so dark.

The night sky was dark but there were stars. Stars like the constellations on her skin.

Her skin.

Jaime swiped a finger along his lips remembering the feel of her skin there not too long ago.

His lips.

Her lips. He might never get to taste her lips.

He squeezed his eyes tighter, so tight that he saw an explosion of light behind his eyelids.

Light.

There was light in this darkness. The sun must be rising. Yes, it was rising and the sun was reflecting upon these dark murky depths. The light shone and the water transformed. It became so blue. Translucent and radiantly blue like her eyes.

Her eyes.

Brienne’s eyes.

_ My love! _

Love swelled in his chest and soothed the ache. She was here with him. Even out here at sea she was with him. There was nowhere he could go that she would not be with him.

Jaime put a hand over his heart. Brienne would always be with him because she lived there. She was its mistress and the only one that could tend it well.

_ The memory of her will not do. She needs to come home to me, where she belongs, where she has always belonged. _

Her eyes.

Her eyes were still on him. They had been so blue, and so tender, and so warm, and he had felt loved. When she looked at him he felt loved.

_ She loves me! I know that she must love me. I need to be certain. I must know. I must try. Oh, Brienne. Oh, my wench. Please, say that you love me too. _

Slowly, painstakingly, Jaime came back to himself and the words came too. Draft, after draft, after draft until his hand throbbed and burned fiercely, until it began to spasm, until it went numb and the pressure of the quill on the sheets of paper was all he could feel, he poured out words and more words and willed his soul to speak all that he had not been able to say before. He said all that he needed to say, and yet, it did not seem like enough.

_ Enough. It has to be enough. _

Jaime put the quill down and gathered up the sheets of paper, the last version of the letter, the bridge that would help him finally get to her. Come midnight, he laid himself down on the bed at last but it was not to sleep. It was to hope, to dream, to visualize his life with her in it. He pushed down the fear and gathered up his courage. In the morning he would go to her. He would deliver his letter and he would have faith in his own heart, in his own eyes, in his own judgement. 

* * *

At some point during the night, he managed to sleep for a few hours. Morning light shone through his window and a bright blue sky greeted him just outside. With eyes burning from not enough sleep and favoring his swollen and tender hand, he gingerly dragged his body out of bed and prepared it to face the day. Flexing and stretching his hand and fingers, he increased the circulation and felt instant relief. Then, he unwrapped the bandages and found that those shallow wounds had begun to heal enough to not necessitate a covering.

Dressing one handed today was more of a chore than usual but nothing slow and steady persistence could not achieve. It was not his body that was the hindrance to all he desired to accomplish this day, it was his mind. Therefore, fully dressed and with the carefully-sealed letter in hand, he sat heavily on the bed and took deep, steadying breaths. Upon every exhalation he forced himself to remember the warmth in her eyes just days before, to believe in the unspoken words written in every glance.

_ She loves me. I know she loves me. _

The clock on his bedside table struck ten when Jaime finally gathered up enough courage to leave his bedchamber. Hastily, he walked to the breakfast room and took some toast, fruit, and coffee from the sideboard, as he had not eaten much the day before and required sustenance. Absently, Jaime pictured Brienne sitting at this very table with him every morning, and his heart yearned for it so fiercely that his mind clung to it possessively.

_ She belongs to me. We belong together. I am hers and she is mine. _

On his walk to the house in Kingspyre Place, Jaime’s thoughts kept vacillating between hope for the future and fear of rejection. The ugliest thoughts and images occurred to him then. He could not help picturing Brienne with Hunt, and flashes of her bitter and sometimes frightened face came to mind as he imagined how miserable that man would make her, and how his manipulations would put her in very compromising and utterly unbearable situations.  _ When the candles are snuffed out anyone can be imagined beautiful, and a warm body feels just as good as any other. _ A shudder went through him remembering that knave’s words, and in that instant, he promised himself and her, that Hunt would never come near her again, regardless of how she chose to respond to Jaime’s declarations. But he could not keep others from abusing or mistreating her if they ventured to do so, if she handed herself over to the wrong person, if she selected someone who could only see what the superficial and undiscerning eye would contemplate, and not the treasure that shone from the inside out.

It was thus that his mind was occupied when Jaime came upon the Starks just outside of Brienne’s home. Catelyn saw him cross the avenue and met his approach with a smile, but that smile faded as she grasped that his mood was altered, his expression conveying the turmoil of his agitated mind. She looked into his eyes and reached for his hand, startling a little when she noticed the scabbed abrasions on his knuckles. “Captain Lannister, you look unwell. Does something trouble you?”

Jaime glanced at the woman’s daughters behind her and did a mental tally of all those he would have to evade in order to hand Brienne the letter in a private space. “I have come to speak with Miss Tarth but it appears she will be very occupied this morning. It would not be proper for me to call on her now. And yet, I do not think that what I must convey to her can wait another moment.”

Catelyn looked at him with something like pity, but another emotion shone in her eyes and made them glisten. “Captain Lannister, I am indebted to you in so many ways for so many reasons. Please, let me know if I may be of service to you somehow. Anything you would ask of me would stay between us. I know that in the past…” She hesitated and did take his hand now, gently, before continuing on in a somber tone. “In the past I did not behave towards you as you deserved. I know now that you are the finest of men and that anything you endeavor to do would be done with only the best of intentions. I would help you, if I could, if only you would ask it of me.”

Jaime nodded his head slowly but deliberately. He looked at the others to ensure they were otherwise occupied and took his hand out of hers to reach into his pocket. Catelyn seemed to instinctively understand his gesture and moved in closer to him. Swiftly, he placed the letter into her hand and she, just as swiftly, placed it into her reticule. Careful to keep his voice low he said, “Please make sure that Miss Tarth, and only Miss Tarth, gets that letter. It is of utmost importance that she get it as soon as you deem appropriate. I will return later today to visit and gather her thoughts on my… on the contents of the letter.”

Catelyn smiled warmly at him and patted his arm. “I understand perfectly, Captain. Rest assured that I will do everything I can to assist you both in any way that is in my power, always. All will be well. Do not fret overly much for I know that fate may be cruel but it tends to smile on those that hold fast and keep the faith. Constancy and hope are our friends, and those that embrace them are justly rewarded.”

Jaime’s eyes stung with emotion. “Thank you, Lady Stark. I hope to see you tomorrow evening for dinner. If... if I do not come, I am sure you can understand why.” A lump formed in his throat and tripped the last of his words.

“Of course, but I am certain that when I see you next it will be with a song in my heart.” Tears glistened in her eyes and she blinked them back before waving and calling to the girls whom were deep in conversation about wedding clothes.

Waving at the Stark girls who had just looked up as if to come and speak with him, he turned and walked away rapidly, for he could not stand to be questioned by them.

_ I will go to the Bear Pit. I need to occupy my mind on something else or I shall drive myself mad. _

He arrived at the club and was relieved that no other patrons were sparring yet today. Having changed into more appropriate clothing for the sport, Addam left him to his own company and Jaime used the time to practice his footwork. He imagined all of his concerns and fears materialized before him and with his blade he battled them one by one. Cutting, slashing, thrusting, and stabbing he moved his body vehemently to quiet his mind. It was only when he stopped to rest that restless thoughts would flood him once again.

“Damn it all to the seven hells” he cursed under his breath, as he thought he heard the front door open, and someone come into the otherwise-unoccupied club.


	28. Chapter 28

At the sound of the Starks’ arrival, Brienne made her way down the stairs. 

“Oh there you are!” cried Margaery, “I began to despair that you would be too unwell still!”

Brienne grinned at her cousin, “No, I am… that is, I think I am well enough.” She embraced the others, but it was Catelyn whose eye she sought, and who seemed to be seeking hers. Brienne gave her a puzzled glance, but turned to Margaery and asked that she and Catelyn be excused for a moment. Brienne led her friend into the drawing room, cold and vacant this morning as Loras had already escorted his grandmother to a visit with her acquaintance in another part of town. They sat on the sofa, and both attempted to begin, laughing when their words collided, and Catelyn gestured for Brienne to start. 

“My dear friend, I must ask you a favor. I know it will seem untoward to ask this rather than waiting to be asked, but I find myself desperate and in need of your help.” 

Catelyn thought Brienne’s aspect almost as wild as the captain’s had been, and she reached for her hand, “My darling girl, what is it that you need?”

“I hoped you might ask me to stay a few days at Hunter Place. I hope, that is… Catelyn, tomorrow night--”

Lady Stark shushed her, and squeezed her hand. “I understand. I’ll ask Gendry to take your things to the house as soon as they're ready.”

Brienne shook her head and smiled wryly. “I’m already packed. I had planned to just bring it with us when we went out.”

Catelyn smiled and squeezed her hand. “Of course you are. Well then Gendry will take it straight away and leave it with Pod and Bran. But my child I think perhaps you should stay back a while. Come to the house tonight. For now I have been tasked…” she looked at Brienne and smiled, drawing the letter from her reticule, and lowering her voice, “I was asked to deliver this to you. I think perhaps you should stay and read it. Your cousin and I will see to the girls, and we will see you later on.”

Brienne scrunched her brow as she took the thickly folded paper from her friend. “But I… oh.”

There again was his hand, yet it seemed more strained than before, as if the writer had struggled to hold the quill steady in a weak hand. Gone were the crooked but decisive flourishes in her name, as if the skin were stripped back and all that was left was one bare beating heart. 

Catelyn squeezed her hand once more and then stood to ring the bell for Renly. She asked the butler to retrieve Brienne’s bag from her room and then met the others in the hall. Over the sound of her own thoughts, Brienne could hear the girls’ disappointment when Catelyn told them that Brienne would not join them that afternoon, but soon those sounds had gone and Brienne was left alone with Jaime’s words.

She broke the seal gently, tucked herself in to the high-backed chair by the unlit hearth and read.

> **My dearest Brienne,**

She let out a shuddering breath. 

> **I am half hope, half agony. I hardly know where to begin. How do I convey the secret longings of my heart? How do I pour out onto this page everything that I feel so that you may come to understand me better, to know my intentions, to see all of my hopes and fears as clearly and openly as I would have them laid bare before you? I do not think I possess the talent to properly express all that I think and feel but I must attempt it just the same.**

She gripped the pages and suppressed a sob of happiness edged with anxiety. 

_ Why does he write to me rather than come to me? I know his heart and his intentions, all that is left is for him to know mine. Oh, Jaime. _

> **You must know Brienne, that everything I do, everything I have done, has been in service of winning you. I came to Harrenhal with this sole purpose. Everything I think and plan revolves around you. You are the center of my world now, the only thing I want, the only thing I need.**

She smiled like a fool, laughing as she traced the words lovingly. 

_ You have me, Jaime._

> **If you could only know how long and deeply I have loved you. **

_ I do, Jaime. I love you, I love you, I love you... _

> **Not a day has gone by that I have not thought of you, that I have not desired you... **

Her own desire mounted in her belly as she recalled the warmth of his body pressed against her hip when he had pinned her to the wall with his sword.

> **...that I have not dreamt of holding you in my arms, of staring into your eyes and longed to kiss your lips. **

She touched a finger to her lips where his breath had grazed under the awning just before the interruption.

> **I have always been yours, even after you almost broke my heart ten years ago. Bitter and resentful I have been, undiscerning and rash I may have been, but never inconstant. Do not say that men are less constant than women. My heart, in all of its continued hope and agony, is proof enough beating in my chest. I offer it up to you for inspection. Take it and keep it well, my lady.**

_ Do not say… _

She gasped. 

_ Maidenpool. _

She recalled her conversation with Podrick. How Jaime had suddenly and noisily pushed himself from the table and quitted the room. 

_ He must have overheard us. He must… and then… _

She dropped the letter to her lap and gripped the arms of the chair, trying to ease her shaking. The two of them had been in sync even before Sansa fell, before they knew it. They had both been struggling to achieve the same aim - to come back to one another in some way. She, thinking to be satisfied enough with his friendship and forgiveness but he, ready to prove that he was capable of so much more. 

She shook, tears falling steadily now, and the top sheet of the letter shifted and floated off of her skirt towards the cold hearth. She scrambled forward with a cry, holding the other pages and snatching up the fugitive just before it could fall and be muddied by the ashes. She curled on the floor in front of the chair to continue reading. 

> **Brienne, I must confess that what I have done will likely offend and upset your honorable sensibilities and unshakable moral compass. But you must know that what I have done, I did to protect you, to honor you in the only way I knew how. **

She froze. 

_ What does he mean? It has been less than two days since I last saw him, what could he have done. He can have done nothing in that time which I would not forgive... _

> **Mr. Hyle Hunt is not worthy of you. **

A chill ran through her veins, and she clutched the pages tightly. She had thought his anxieties rooted in Olenna’s treatment of him. She had not considered Hunt a variable of his uncertainty. She had not thought...

> **He has pursued you for his own monetary gain. He thought you wealthy and that you could fill his coffers by exploiting your good will and abusing your irreplaceable heart. **

_ This I know, but Jaime, how... _

> **Brienne, he dared to speak ill of you in my presence and I could not abide it. I could not let him mistreat you my love, not in actions and not in words. **

_ Oh gods, Jaime, no. _

She found herself spiraling into panic. If Jaime had seen Catelyn to deliver the letter that morning, then it was at least likely that there had been no duel, at least not today. 

_ But Jaime, oh Jaime please do not… _

He was fierce with a sword, but if he challenged Hyle… 

_ Gods help me, I do not wish you to die for me, for my honor, or for anything else. Please be well, please... _

> **Please forgive me for my transgressions, of which this may be the least contemptible, for I would do it all again. I would remove him bodily from this Earth if that is what I felt needed to be done to keep you from such a man’s dastardly clutches. **

_ Oh Jaime do you not see that I could never be his? _

> **Thankfully, Addam stayed my hand before I committed this crime, a crime that I would only regret because it would have taken you from me forever.**

_ Thank the gods for Addam. But what did you do, my love, that I would not have done myself had I a sword handy when he made his addresses, or had I not the decency not to sully my aunt’s floors with that man’s viscera? _

> **Brienne, my love, my sweetling, my good and honorable and pure-hearted precious wench, I hope that you do not find these addresses offensive coming from one so undeserving as I. **

_ Undeserving. You have never been undeserving. It was I and my false mistrust in you which made you out to be so. You own my heart, whether you think you deserve it or not, it is yours. _

> **I know that I am not all that a gentleman should be. **

She nearly snorted at this, laughter coming back into her countenance. 

_ And when have I ever been as a lady should be? _

> **I know too that my temperament and excess of feelings are unappealing... **

_ Never. _

> **...and that my dark moods can be frightening... **

_ You do not scare me, Jaime. Let me be your equilibrium. Let me calm these waters, this storm that rages over you. Let me love you, all of you. _

> **...but is it somehow possible for you to love me in all of my imperfections? **

_ Yes! _

> **Would you grant me the opportunity to make up for them? **

_ There is nothing to make up for, you silly man. I love you because of your imperfections, not in spite of them. _

> **If you could, I would spend the rest of my life trying. I swear it, if only you say the word.**

Here was the declaration, quietly spoken, which a reprisal of his dashed addresses of ten years before. She would not disappoint him. She would be his partner, his lover, his wife; she would be anything that he would have of her, and everything that he would take, for the well of love she drew from for him was bottomless. 

_ Yes, a thousand times, yes. _

> **Please Brienne, tell me…tell me not that it is too late. Tell me not that all that I feel, that all that I am, that my every hope and desire, is not enough. Tell me not that hope is gone, for I cannot conceive of a life without you in it.**

_ You are more than enough, Jaime. No other could ever match you in my heart. No other could ever be welcome. _

She wished he were there at that moment, making his addresses to her person. She wished that she might hold him, cradle him to her and show him that the hour of hope was un-ended, that her heart and body and soul were wholly his to love and be loved by. 

> **I await your response. A look, a word, any sign of your affections will be enough. For you are all that I desire, and anything you deem to bestow upon me will be more than enough to fill my heart and make me…**
> 
> **Forever yours,**
> 
> **JL**
> 
> **P.S. I will come to seek your answer this afternoon. If only I could hasten the hour and be sure that it would bring good tidings, I would to lessen this uncertainty, but alas, I have no such god-like power. I am just a man, desperately in love with the best of women. **

She shook, panting, somehow smiling through her tears then, the pages of the letter spilling from her lap onto the rug as she pressed her hands to her face to muffle her joint tears and laughter, which after a moment settled into a steady stream of miserable tears. 

_ It is too much. To be loved so much and not now have the opportunity to respond with the same desperate depth of feeling immediately, to be imprisoned so by distance and time and propriety. _

_ It is too much. _

_ It is unfair, and the balance is all mine for he is waiting, his stores empty and reliant on my own. _

_ Oh Jaime, where are you? Let me come to you. Let me assure you. Let me show you that you are worthy of love. That you are deserving of every affection. _

She re-read the letter a second time, her tears eventually drying, her heart swelling. By the time she reached the end again, she was wretched. She could not bear these feelings be expressed without recompense. Afternoon was still too far off. If she waited to see him until then, she might not have the strength to not abuse anyone within their sight with her own wild desperate passions. She had his love, and he was somewhere being uncertain of hers. She could not bear it. She would not bear it. 

She gathered herself up and folded the pages together again. Then, clutching them in one hand and removing her pelisse from its hook by the door without thought, she stepped outside, the remnants of her tears freezing in tracks on her cheeks. The wind blew cold but she walked on, barely feeling it, the coat over her arm. A strange sight she must have made with her bare arms, a braid hanging down her back unpinned, her eyes reddened and determined. Her skirts billowed around her legs as she walked as if in a trance to the Middle Ward, and it occurred to her very briefly the irony with which she now wore the white dress with the tiny pink blossoms, the one she’d once dreamt of wearing in the meadow, where she’d been exactly where she wished to always be, and wrapped in the arms of the man who had never stopped loving her.

She turned right on the main avenue and then a left, her feet speeding up as The Bear Pit came within sight.

_ This is the only place where I know he might be. And if he is not here, then at least Addam might take pity on us and direct me to him. _

She peered in the window and could not see anyone, but the main door was unlocked, so the club must be open. It was untoward for her to be there while other men might be sparring but she cared not. If she was questioned, she would apply to Addam. She closed the door behind her, and the sounds of the street quieted as she stood in the dim entryway, listening, but she heard little. There was no conversation, only one set of feet dancing across the club floor as if someone was making use of one of the training dummies, or marking out a fight. As she walked the hall to the doorway for the main gymnasium she thought perhaps she had imagined those steps for they had stopped, but then a curse was uttered and the steps resumed. 

When she reached the doorway, she sighed in relief as one might on seeing home for the first time in an age, and she felt the heat in her belly drop lower; his name fell from her lips in a whisper. She might be a wretch, wantonly desiring him in the open like this, her hair askew, her cheeks red from the wind, her eyes puffy from weeping, her coat dragging on the floor, and her hand clenched and ink-stained around the letter. But he was beautiful. And he was hers, as she was his. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those interested, here's the letter in full:
> 
> My dearest Brienne,
> 
> I am half hope, half agony. I hardly know where to begin. How do I convey the secret longings of my heart? How do I pour out onto this page everything that I feel so that you may come to understand me better, to know my intentions, to see all of my hopes and fears as clearly and openly as I would have them laid bare before you? I do not think I possess the talent to properly express all that I think and feel but I must attempt it just the same.
> 
> You must know Brienne, that everything I do, everything I have done, has been in service of winning you. I came to Harrenhal with this sole purpose. Everything I think and plan revolves around you. You are the center of my world now, the only thing I want, the only thing I need. If you could only know how long and deeply I have loved you. Not a day has gone by that I have not thought of you, that I have not desired you, that I have not dreamt of holding you in my arms, of staring into your eyes and longed to kiss your lips. 
> 
> I have always been yours, even after you almost broke my heart ten years ago. Bitter and resentful I have been, undiscerning and rash I may have been, but never inconstant. Do not say that men are less constant than women. My heart, in all of its continued hope and agony, is proof enough beating in my chest. I offer it up to you for inspection. Take it and keep it well, my lady.
> 
> Brienne, I must confess that what I have done will likely offend and upset your honorable sensibilities and unshakable moral compass. But you must know that what I have done, I did to protect you, to honor you in the only way I knew how. 
> 
> Mr. Hyle Hunt is not worthy of you. He has pursued you for his own monetary gain. He thought you wealthy and that you could fill his coffers by exploiting your good will and abusing your irreplaceable heart. Brienne, he dared to speak ill of you in my presence and I could not abide it. I could not let him mistreat you my love, not in actions and not in words. 
> 
> Please forgive me for my transgressions, of which this may be the least contemptible, for I would do it all again. I would remove him bodily from this Earth if that is what I felt needed to be done to keep you from such a man’s dastardly clutches. Thankfully, Addam stayed my hand before I committed this crime, a crime that I would only regret because it would have taken you from me forever.
> 
> Brienne, my love, my sweetling, my good and honorable and pure-hearted precious wench, I hope that you do not find these addresses offensive coming from one so undeserving as I. I know that I am not all that a gentleman should be. I know too that my temperament and excess of feelings are unappealing and that my dark moods can be frightening, but is it somehow possible for you to love me in all of my imperfections? Would you grant me the opportunity to make up for them? If you could, I would spend the rest of my life trying. I swear it, if only you say the word.
> 
> Please Brienne, tell me…tell me not that it is too late. Tell me not that all that I feel, that all that I am, that my every hope and desire, is not enough. Tell me not that hope is gone, for I cannot conceive of a life without you in it.
> 
> I await your response. A look, a word, any sign of your affections will be enough. For you are all that I desire, and anything you deem to bestow upon me will be more than enough to fill my heart and make me…
> 
> Forever yours,
> 
> JL
> 
> P.S. I will come to seek your answer this afternoon. If only I could hasten the hour and be sure that it would bring good tidings, I would to lessen this uncertainty, but alas, I have no such god-like power. I am just a man, desperately in love with the best of women.


	29. Chapter 29

Jaime stepped, swung, parried, stepped again, his hand aching around the grip as he fought off his invisible opponent, a demon of doubt that sought to claw at his heart. He’d been at this for some time, and sweat covered his chest and back, the fabric of his shirt clinging to him desperately. His curls were tucked behind his ears and matted at his neck. The open sleeve of his other arm fluttered around his empty wrist with each thrust, sending puffs of air up his arm as it tensed automatically with a desire to be once again holding the sword, the rest of his body tensing with uncertainty, aching with a need for knowledge that was yet some hours away. 

Rocking back on the wrong foot yet again, he stopped and sliced the blade through the air angrily, muttering another curse which seemed echoed this time by a whisper. 

He lifted his head. 

The sensation of being watched set the hair on his arms on end and he spun around, blade raised slightly in defense and found that the loveliest pair of blue eyes in existence was staring at him from several feet away. 

Everything about her shone brightly. Her eyes clear vibrant pools, her hair catching the noon sun through the skylight and blazing like spun gold, her skin was flushed all over as if… yes, there was her coat half dragged behind her. Had his maiden warrior walked there in the cold to reignite the warmth in his heart?

The look in her eyes as they bore into his was unquestionable, so much so he thought he might be imagining her there. His arm grew weak and the sword clattered to the ground. He reached up and scrubbed his hand up and down his face, praying to the gods that she would still be there with that look of undisguised adoration when he again opened his eyes. 

The sound of the blade striking the floor had roused her from the reverie of his astonishing form and she took a step closer. When he opened his eyes again, they blazed like wildfire over her, warming her chilled skin and piercing her heart. The coat and letter fell from her hand with a flutter. She stepped closer still and could see that he was shaking. Her eyes filled with tears at the thought that he could have worked himself into such a state of despair that the sight of her threatened to break him apart before her. He took a step forward, her name on his lips. 

“Brienne… if you’re here--”

“--Yes!” she cried, perhaps too loudly but at only a fraction of the volume she felt straining to burst from her body.

His eyes roved her face.

“Brienne, I…” 

They took the last few steps toward one another together. 

He fell to his knees before her, and she before him, her hands going to his chest and running up his neck. She cupped his jaw, the stubble of his cheek scratching her palms as she held his face in her hands. Jaime fought the urge to close his eyes at the sensation of her finally in his embrace, a sweet ache that begged for more. He fisted the fabric of her skirt at the hip to pull her flush with him, then his arm inched up her back from the waist up to the nape of her neck where he clasped his hand beneath her hair and pulled her closer. 

The shock of his fingers heated and needy at her neck sent a shiver of lust down her spine, sinking into the space where she was molten and churning and wanting him. She brought her brow to lean against his, their eyes unwavering. “I love you.”

His eyes flashed and he turned his head to both sides, placing a kiss in the palm of each of her hands. 

She wished that she might will his body to calm, to ease within her arms. She felt her tears returning. “I love every piece of you. You have done nothing wrong,” she assured him, “I-- Oh, Jaime, I have been… I could not wait, I had to come and find you. I had to-- I have always loved you, Jaime.” Her eyes darted to his mouth, and she pulled her bottom lip between her teeth before sighing, 

He could see the desire in her damp eyes and felt it echoed in his belly, surging still lower. He had hoped beyond hope that she would love him, desired her own desire, but the passions that lay in her depths now were beyond imagining. The sound of his name from her lips, almost a moan, made his body flush with heat. His eyes darted to where her teeth were tugging at her deliciously plump lip, and he could not hold back any longer. He had to taste them, finally, and forever. “Wench.” He tilted his lips upward and captured her mouth with his, moaning as she met him with the same force and passion. 

A fire exploded in her belly. She pushed both hands past his neck to fist in his hair, anchoring him to her. His shorter arm brushed her side, and she leaned into him, opening her mouth at the feel of his tongue begging entry at the seam of her lips, and moaning wantonly as it invaded her mouth and sparred with hers as her tears fell. He matched her moan for moan, flush for flush, as if their sparring had never stopped. She dropped a hand to his shoulder and clawed at the damp linen of his shirt, digging into the muscle, straining to be closer, to absorb him beneath her skin. 

The feel of her nails pressing his skin sent a bolt of desire to his groin. She was pressed so deliciously to him, the salt of her tears in his mouth drawing a groan up from deep in his chest. He could feel her breasts brushing his chest as they panted together, sending sparks all over his skin as if it were being reanimated, his skin, nipples, the hair on his chest, all coming alive for her. He wound his stump around her waist and dragged her closer still, his hips bucking against her involuntarily as they devoured one another. 

She whimpered when he dragged his mouth from hers to nip hungrily at her jaw, her earlobe, her neck, wanting to taste all of her at once. His sweat was cool against her chest and arms but she was burning from the inside out. Her whimpers became headier moans when his stubbled cheek met her neck, and the dampness between her legs became urgent, the vague memory of a dream encroaching on reality. 

She threw her head back, arching against him while he supported her. His hand shifted to pull the fabric of her dress lower, and he plunged his mouth down on the juncture of her neck and shoulder, his teeth and tongue and lips scraping and soothing and massaging her collarbone, and her legs began to shake as if her knees would not support her much longer. His mouth crossed to her shoulder and back again, even as she lowered her hands between them to tear at the buttons of her bodice, desperate to feel him everywhere. He licked and suckled on the newly exposed skin and charted a path down to her chest as she keened for more. 

He had to stop. 

_ If she does not stop opening her dress, if I do not stop touching her, only a few inches lower, my love, we must stop, else I will never stop, for I am a weak man in your arms. _

“Oh gods, Brienne.” His hand clutched her skirts, dragging the fabric up at her hip, but finally willed himself to stop, instead moving his hand to her waist and holding it steady. 

Disregarding the cessation of his attentions, she cupped his face and tilted his head back up to hers, seeing his pupils blown and face flushed. She pulled his lips back up to hers but then finally felt his hand pushing her away at the waist. 

She pulled back, blinking and panting, “What is it?” 

“Brienne,” he shook his head, “I love you--”

“--I know, Jaime, I--”

“--No. I love you… and gods bear witness, I want you. But not like this. You do not know what I would do to you if you allowed me to go on.”

Hurt, unsure, and still aching, Brienne sat back on her legs. His arms fell from her waist, but she gathered them up, stroking the skin of his wrists, feeling the scarring across the one. Jaime gasped at her touch and met her eyes. He had allowed no one such access to his ruined arm since the loss of his hand. Her featherlight touches brought tears to his eyes as he regarded her. 

“We are equals in this, Jaime. I will never have it said that you did anything that I did not desire, that I did not beg of you with my whole heart. But you are honorable, and I would never ask you to do anything that might alter that. Yet if not like this, Jaime, then how? When? We have waited so long. I will do whatever you ask, go wherever you tell me, so long as I may be with you and assure you of the truth in my heart, and never have you turn from me again.” She moved her hands up his arms and back to his heart. “So long as we have this.”

He took her right hand from his chest and pressed his lips to her knuckles and then, meeting her eyes, turned that hand over and mouthed her wrist as in times past, her thumb brushing his cheek to wipe away an errant tear. He nuzzled her palm and brought his other wrist back to her waist. “My love, I wish to never be parted from you again. But, you are yet a maid. I would do this right. You deserve that honor.” She smiled weakly and closed her eyes with a sigh. 

“Brienne,” her eyes snapped back to him, “would you…” he swallowed the lump in his throat hard. Her eyes were boring into him, so unsure, so tender, so open, “would you consent to be my wife? Could you marry me… let me try to make you as happy as you make me--”

A million thoughts flew through Brienne’s mind then, from the sight of his outstretched hand at the ball at Casterly Rock, to the first time they had sparred, to his first rejected proposal and the way his eyes had gone from joy to sorrow in an instant, to those eyes restored to her but cold in Bran’s room that fateful morning, to meeting her own eyes at Maidenpool over the edge of the cobb, to her hand on his heart at Winterfell, to the dream of him in the baths. And now another came to her, this one rooted not in the past but in a dream of the future; she recalled the image in her mind which had brought her so much distress just days ago, that of him in their meadow, two beautiful children - blonde twin girls she saw now - running about him as he captured them with his arms and embraced them playfully, and now she was there, too, beside him, laughing, loving. She would have this.

She straightened up against him again, her hands flying to the front of his shirt and pulling his brow against hers with a smile so wide it hurt. “Jaime Lannister, I would wed you today. I would wed you this hour, this moment if you would have me. There is no blessing on this earth greater than the feel of your love for me. You set my very soul ablaze. I want for nothing but that love in all its manifestations. I would scream it from the roof of this building. But if it must be the bells of the sept instead which sound my happiness, then let it be so. My hopes and desires will not abate between now and whatever date you feel must be set.”

He brought his hands back to her waist and stroked her ribs through her dress, ribs that he had already counted at his leisure in a fog of secrecy, and which he knew would be flushing then beneath his hands, a glowing galaxy of stars spreading from one side of her belly to the other. He tried to put the memory away and focus instead on her smile. Her smile would be enough to power him through a thousand lifetimes, and he would live them all in any variation so long as she was always there to greet him. “Brienne, I would wed you as soon as you deem appropriate. We need wait no longer than that. I only wish to make you happy. I assume you would want to tell my aunt and cousins, and the Starks of course, that you would wish them present?”

She brought her lips to his lightly, a tiny punctuation mark promising more to come. “I want only you, Jaime. Your aunt, I’m afraid, will not approve. And the Starks are out this afternoon, but we can go to the house and wait - Bran and Captain Payne should be at home.”

He gently pulled away and eased himself up off of the ground and, brushing off his knees, reached out a hand to assist her up as well. “Let me go change out of these clothes and freshen up, and then we shall find a carriage to take us both hence. Does that sound like an agreeable plan my love?” He smiled brightly, holding one of her hands and bringing it again to his lips. 

She returned his smile. “Yes, very agreeable, if you wish it. For myself, I would marry you the moment a septon could be imposed on to say the words.”

Jaime felt his stomach swoop. 

_ If I cannot get myself under control, it may come to that _. 

He bent to pick up his sword, and then her coat and letter to distract himself. 

He slipped the letter into the pocket of the blue coat and then held it up for her to slip her arms into, his fingers dragging against hers, and he willed himself to step away. “Alright, my lady. Let us speak more on this when I return.”

She smiled with an edge of longing from which he had to look away, feeling achingly hard, his body still flushed with heat. 

_ I must go splash some water onto my face and cool my burning skin, lest I embarrass her before our acquaintances. _

Once Jaime had disappeared into the changing room, Brienne pressed her back to the wall with a sigh, and a smile that would not disperse. She touched her fingers to her lips, swollen with his kisses; she willed her body to cool, pressing her legs together to try and stem the tide of need that threatened to seep from her body. And then she recalled that her bodice would have her looking indecent. She laughed a little to herself and then addressed the buttons there, regaining some appearance of modesty. Feeling her hair, she realized it likely looked quite wild by now. Perhaps once Jaime was done she could examine herself in the room’s ornate mirror and ensure that she was appropriate for company. For now she brought the remnants of her braid in front of her shoulder, removed the ribbon, and ran her fingers through the strands to set her locks loose and ready them for a new attempt.

She had just smoothed the strands enough to begin again when there was a sound at the club’s main entrance. She peered around the doorway, thinking to perhaps see the club’s owner arriving, but the man she caught sight of briefly was not he, or any man she knew. The grey-haired man of middling height was unfamiliar. She looked around for somewhere to secret herself until he passed, but the partitions for the private spaces were too far off. She could not stay out in the open lest hers or Jaime’s honor be called into question. Panicking, she took two quick steps to the changing room door and grabbed the handle. She slipped inside, clicked the lock soundly, and then pressed her back to the door, and a gasp caught in her throat at the sight before her.


	30. Chapter 30

Jaime walked into the changing room, knees still shaking, head still spinning and heart bursting with love.

_ She said yes! My love said yes! She will be my wife. _

He could feel the enormous grin spread over his face, and his cheeks were aching from the intensity of his smile. Though his cheeks were not the only thing aching he thought, for the hardness in his groin had not diminished and he desperately needed to cool down the passion coursing through his veins. Jaime stripped off his sweat-soaked shirt and walked back to the basin near the door. Pouring water from the pitcher into it, he looked into the mirror to his right. He could see how flushed his skin had become and how red and swollen his lips both appeared and felt. The memory of her mouth on his raged in his mind.

_ Not helpful. _

Splashing his face, arms, and chest with water he watched in the mirror as the water dripped down his chest and began to soak his breeches. Hand slightly aching, and suffering from a small over-excited tremor, he grasped at the buttons and fumbled them open enough for him to remove his breeches. The fabric slid along his sensitive and still very hard groin as he removed them, making the ache almost unbearable, and barely contained in his undergarments.

_ Oh gods, I will embarrass myself in front of the wench. _

Jaime could not take himself in hand while Brienne stood right outside this room waiting for him. Knowing not what else to do, he sat down on the nearest bench and breathed deep.

_ I have waited this long for her. I can wait another few days. I am not a school boy. I can gain control over myself. _

Scrubbing his hand over his face and then through his sweat soaked locks, Jaime closed his eyes and tried not to remember the feel of her hands in his hair, the smell of her skin under his nose as he grazed her jaw and neck with his lips, the taste of her lips and wet molten hot tongue under his, and a groan formed in his throat.

_ Brienne, my wench. _

The sound of the door swinging open and closed quickly made him look up towards that part of the room. Standing there directly in his sight was Brienne -- reaching behind her to turn the bolt, eyes wide and startled, chest heaving, and hands trembling slightly as she dropped them to her sides. Her hair was loose and falling around her face in light soft waves like he had never seen before. The look in her eyes went quickly from alarmed to heated as they began to roam over his body slowly from his head, down his naked chest, over his bare stomach, and pausing to take in the evidence of his desire straining against his drawers. 

Her tongue jutted out of her mouth to wet her lips. “There was a…” Her voice was low, breathy, sultry. Her eyes roamed back up to his again. “...and I didn’t... “ She felt her core melting again, threatening a flood. She took long sure strides closer to him, stopping only a few steps from his reach.

Their eyes locked, one pair of blown pupils focused entirely on the other. A red flush crept from her cheeks down into her neck and chest. Her chest was rising and falling so hard that her bosom quaked beneath her coat. She wished she had not fixed her bodice, that she might tear her clothes from her person now and press her skin wholly to his.

_ I need to feel him. _

She peeled the coat from her shoulders, freeing her arms of the trapped-in heat of the fabric, and of the limitations of its stitching. It pooled on the ground behind her and she covered the remaining space between them in two long strides. Her skirts enveloped his knees as her shins pressed into them. But close was not close enough. She sought to feel him envelop her again and boldly nudged his legs further with hers until he had to widen his knees to accommodate her between them. Still looking him in the eyes she took a breath and put her hands on his shoulders, gripping them hard as if he were the only thing keeping her from drowning.

The feel of her fingertips and nails digging into the muscle of his bare shoulders, the protective layer of his shirt gone, made his skin burn and his groin stir in response. Jaime leaned forward and pressed his face against her waist as waves of desire washed over him and threatened to remove all defenses. She sighed and pulled him closer, the smoldering fire inside her once again ignited at the feel of his skin beneath her palms. She wanted to be surrounded by him and filled with him all at once, she wanted to merge her soul with his and feel his skin cover every inch of hers, or to at least draw him to her in as much as he would allow, his head falling to just above the core of her sex. He was flooded with sensations then as his nose grazed her skirts just where he longed to taste her. The scent of her arousal was intoxicating and could not be mistaken. 

One of her hands burned a trail from his shoulder to the nape of his neck where she began to card his hair, the other massaged her fingers all around his shoulder, kneading into him, experimentally feeling the outline of his muscles there. 

Her touch felt so sure -- not a hint of hesitation or apprehension in it. She might be a maid but she would not shy away from her desire. Pressing him into her passionately as she shuddered against him, he knew that she wanted him as much as he did her. She was urging him to touch her, had placed herself in his grasp. He could deny his own needs but he was not strong enough to deny hers.

“Brienne….” his voice was thick with want.

“Jaime…” hers was just as needy.

He raised his stump around the back of her thighs to anchor her to him, feeling the strength of her legs there, and he lifted the fabric by her knees just high enough for him to reach beneath it. Soon his fingertips were grazing her soft muscular calf and sliding slowly up behind her knee. She buckled and shook at his touch, but he steadied her further with his other arm.

As she spread one palm over his bare chest, feeling the hair there flatten and spring back against her hand, he slowly skimmed his fingers up her inner thigh, bunching the fabric higher, making small circles there until she widened her stance invitingly. Everywhere he touched was aflame; every glance of his eyes, salvation. Gently, he hooked his hand beneath her knee and brought her leg up to rest on the bench beside his hip. She looked at him curiously, her eyes searching for the answer to a question she would never in her experience think to ask. He stroked her calf assuringly. Then he hitched her skirts up around the tops of her thighs, cool air flooding her heated core, finding her exposed to him. His eyes feasted on her flesh, and she licked her dry lips in anticipation of him touching her as she’d imagined, of his fingers finally slipping into her moist center.

Jaime raised his head and looked into her eyes as his hand slid back over her thighs and his fingers curled into the thatch of blonde hair there, silently thanking the fashion gods that designed women’s undergarments so that they did not cover much of anything at all, so that he might enjoy her like this without impediment. He kept his eyes on her as he slid his forefinger down her center, parting her folds. Her leg trembled beside him at the sensation, and she returned the hand over his heart to his other shoulder, bracing against him. She was so deliciously wet that his finger glided along her glistening seam effortlessly. The look on her face was amazing to behold as she closed her eyes to savor the feel of him where no one save her had ever ventured, and she surprised him again by leaning into that touch and pushing her pelvis closer to him, to his hand and face. Brienne was inexperienced, she could not know what to ask for but her body was incredibly responsive and it knew what sensations it sought, and she longed to feel him against her, on her, in her as much as he would offer. 

Her eyes were half hooded as she looked into his face then. He grinned up at her and watched her reactions carefully as he leaned his head over her thigh and kissed the inside of it. The shock of his lips and stubbled chin against her sensitive skin sent a shudder through Brienne’s body. Her mouth fell open as she moaned his name. Heart thumping in his ears, Jaime let his tongue dart out and savor the taste of her skin there too.

_ Sweet. She tastes so sweet. _

Dragging his tongue up her thighs as she shook, he lost sight of her face and honed in on the place he wanted to live and die. Brienne watched him until his face disappeared beneath her bunched skirts, and then threw her head back as she felt his mouth light upon her in a way wholly unexpected and incredible.

His tongue lapped, his teeth nipped, and his chin grazed her skin until he was buried in a blanket of soft hair. He parted her folds with his nose, and then he felt more than heard Brienne gasp as his tongue slid into her entrance and had its first taste of her honey, sweet and musky, and for him alone.

The feel of her - silky, hot, slippery, smooth on his tongue, and the taste of her running down his throat - awakened in him something wild, almost feral in nature. He dug his fingers into her thigh and lapped at her hungrily, stroke after stroke, starting from the base of her opening and working up her cunt to the nub where he nuzzled his nose to create more sensation.

The feel of him, his hand, his lips, his teeth, his tongue molding to her, filling her, set Brienne on edge. She gripped his hair with both her hands and pulled herself over and into his mouth, seeking more as he swirled his tongue inside her. She was panting, grunting against him, moaning as he brushed her clit, his name falling from her lips like an incantation “Jaime, Jaime, Oh gods, Jaime.” Her hips began to buck as her pleasure mounted, the string inside her tightening. She was dripping wet now. He sealed his lips around her entrance and suckled, begging her for more. His head was bent back in supplication, catching every drop that she might give, and plunging his tongue deeper as she angled over him.

“Jaime… Jaime please…” she pulled on his hair hard, riding his mouth, begging him to release her from the torture of this all-consuming pleasure.

Licking the delicate lips of her opening, Jaime plunged a finger into her depths, his mouth seeking her swollen nub. Circling it with his tongue and crooking his finger in and out of her, he toyed with her to find just the right rhythm, feeling out the right notes, until he was playing her so well that she had to cover her mouth with one hand to stifle her screams of ecstasy when the string inside her snapped, and she pulled his head into her punishingly hard with the other hand.

_ Yes! Yes, let go my love.  _

Nothing would ever again be as satisfying as Brienne quivering around him and flooding his mouth. No taste could compare to the tangy heady flavor of her need. No feeling would ever be more intense and powerful than having her convulse in release at his hand and mouth. For Jaime, nothing in the world could feel better than claiming her pleasure. And for Brienne, nothing could ever feel better than being claimed and worshiped by him.

Going weightless as her entire body shook, Jaime tensed his arms and held her up with both of them encircling her backside, burying his tongue back inside her. 

When her shaking subsided, he let go just enough so that he could slide up her chest and stand before her. Brienne, still panting heavily, feeling empty and weak in the throes of her pleasure, put her arms around his neck and leaned her head onto his shoulder.

Jaime mouthed “I love you” into her neck before recapturing her mouth with his, devouring it as he had devoured the center of her womanhood moments before. He sank his hand into her hair and tangled it at the back of her head, pulling her into him. She moaned into his mouth as she tasted herself on the tongue that warred with hers. The ache between Jaime’s legs was so intense he thought he might perish if it were not relieved. He pushed his groin into the cradle of her sex and she instinctively hooked the leg still up on the bench beside him around his thigh to pull his heat closer, her wetness soaking into the fabric of his drawers. He rocked helplessly into her, moaning at the feel of her so warm and wet against his groin, swallowing her gasps as they rutted together.

Brienne slid her hand down, slowly exploring the contours of his back, until she reached his waist and rested on the cloth barrier there. Jaime lowered his mouth to lap at the skin of her chest, just above the trim of her dress, and she arched into him. He kneaded one breast with his hand as he held his other arm snug at her waist. The feel of his hand on her chest sent aftershocks to her cunt and she shook as he pressed his hips harder into her and she ground back into him. Jaime groaned when her hand went to his hip and pulled at the fabric there. This gloriously torturous friction was making him throb to the point that he thought he would come undone soon but he yearned to feel her hands on him.

“In the front. There are buttons. Brienne, touch me. Please.”

He pulled away just enough for her to slip her hand between them and work at the closure. She fumbled but was able to loosen a couple and slip her hand inside. She felt him, smooth, hard, heavy, pulsing hot in her hand. She gripped him lightly as she might hold a blade at rest, and experimented with sliding her hand along the shaft. The feel of her soft hand on his feverish skin made him hiss. And the way she was stroking him, he knew he would not last long.

“Yes, my love. Up and-- Yes, like that. Oh gods, Brienne, you feel incredible. Please, I love you, gods--.”

He hooked his arm under Brienne’s leg and hitched it higher as he backed her into the wall behind her. Hiking her skirts high again, he slid his hand between her thigh and his pelvis, needing to feel her hot and wet in his hand while she stroked him. They panted into each other’s mouths between impassioned voracious kisses. Just as his knees began to shake and the tension built in his lower back, Brienne began to writhe and keen against him. He pushed her harder into the wall to steady them both and the force of him pushed her over the edge. She buried her face in his neck to muffle her scream as she shook and convulsed around him, his hand continuing its lazy circles around her clit until she caught her breath. Then she was stroking him faster, his hips moving against her desperately until he was spending in her hand, his desire mixing with her honey on the insides of her thighs.

“Brienne! Gods, Brienne!”

Jaime slumped his head down into her neck and felt his chest rest heavily upon hers as she brought both of her arms around his back in an embrace. Her leg slid down from around his waist but remained hooked to the back of his calf as they both attempted to regain their composure.

Kissing her neck and jaw, he felt Brienne mimic his movements until their mouths met again. Soft sweet kisses led to nervous laughter as they both acknowledged the madness of what they had just done. He spoke softly against her mouth, forehead brushing against hers, “Brienne, I do not think we can wait. I must marry you, today. Now, in fact. As soon as we find a sept, I will make you my wife. I will not dishonor you further.”

She smiled at him sweetly and ran a hand through his damp hair, “How could something done in love and willingly given be dishonorable? I do not blame you. I do not feel ashamed. Of course, I will marry you right now if you wish it for I want nothing else than to be your wife, to be yours body and soul, under the old gods and the new, in spirit and in name, but you must know that I would do it all again. Jaime, my love…” She kissed him tenderly but their kiss soon deepened until they were consuming one another once more.

Jaime pushed himself back firmly and shook his head. “I am going to put on my clothes now.” He strode to the washbasin and dampened two cloths in it, wringing them out before returning to her. He looked at her, the hunger in his eyes still evident. 

She smiled and took one of the cloths from him. “I can manage.” 

He nodded. “Good. Because I do not trust myself to touch you at this moment.” 

She swallowed her own need and worried the cloth between her fingers. 

“I will not take your maidenhead in a sparring club’s changing room. You do not deserve that no matter how sweetly you tempt me, my wench.” Smiling wickedly he walked past her to his satchel and took it to the far side of the room to change.

Brienne turned her back and laughed at him. “Make haste, sir.”

“Oh, I will, my lady. You just make sure you remain where you are until I am ready. Gods, who is the maid and who is the conqueror?” At that they both laughed. She walked back to the basin and carefully eased up her skirts to wipe their efforts from her thighs. She could see him in the mirror, his skin glowing as brightly as hers, though perhaps not as pink. Then she looked away from his form, not wishing to be tempted or tempt him beyond his willingness, a smile playing across her features, her happiness overwhelming her. He would be her husband before the day was out. She would have his love, and never need to again part from him.

Across the room, Jaime had never felt more happiness in his entire life. Brienne loved him. Brienne desired him. Brienne was going to be his wife. He sighed to himself and wiped the sweat from his person before donning his clothes


	31. Chapter 31

Jaime put his boots back on and stood, picking up his satchel. Brienne was standing by the door, her coat replaced, her hair re-braided, shifting from foot to foot, worry evident. He approached and reached for her hand hesitantly. “What is wrong?”

She worried her lip. “Before - When I was waiting for you, before,” she blushed, and he moved to kiss her heated cheek before the flush could vanish. “A man came in. He didn’t see me, I rushed in here before he got to this side of the hall but-- perhaps you should go out first?” 

He smiled, relieved. “I’ll make sure the coast is clear before I abscond with you.”

She snorted, “Jaime…”

He flashed his teeth and put a finger to his lips to silence her. Unbolting the door, he looked out. He saw no one, but he heard raised voices coming from the direction of Addam’s office. Jaime peeked around the corner and, seeing no one in the hall, went back to Brienne, motioning for her to come out of the room. He walked her to the hall and halfway to the door, before stopping and whispering, “wait for me outside by the side door. I’ll take my leave of Addam and be with you presently.”

Brienne nodded, turning an ear to the voices down the hall, and then turned and headed outside. 

Jaime sighed to watch her go, but then headed for the office straightening his clothes and feeling a flush creep into his face. The door stood open, so he stepped inside, causing Addam to look up from his conversation. 

“Jaime! There you are!”

“Yes, I uh… had a good session and have just finished changing, and now I’m off,” he tried to give his friend a sign of good news with a sheepish grin. He didn’t want to give too much information to the stranger. 

“Oh, were you? In the changing room? I was just about to come round with my key - this gentleman had been trying to get in a few moments ago, but it was locked. I thought perhaps something had happened to you or that you were in distress.” Addam appeared a little concerned but was studying his face carefully in puzzlement. 

“No, no, just… changing. Ah… my hand as you know has been giving me trouble and I was… struggling a bit… discomfort and all, but I am well. I am very well… Addam. And now I will bid you good day.” The flush crept further up his face and he looked Addam in the eyes with intent.

His friend nodded and looked on him with a gleam in his eyes. Addam’s mouth twitched slightly. He stood and met Jaime by the door. “Very good. Well good day, Jaime.” He lowered his voice as he shook his hand, “give my regards to the lady.”

The corner of Jaime’s mouth tweaked upward and, giving Addam a firm shake, departed, exiting as promised through the side door where he greeted Brienne with a shy smile. He was uncertain of how she might wish to comport herself with him in public, but immediately her hand was around his arm, and they were walking shoulder to shoulder down the avenue. Jaime’s heart swelled at how familiar and right it felt to have her on his arm where everyone might see them together. 

He paused at the corner. There was a sept a few streets over in the direction of the ruins, but there was something he needed to do - something he had dreamed of long ago to make this special and right for her. 

“I hope… I wonder if you would mind if we walked a bit first - if we went to Oak Keep - to my— to the house there. There is something I’d like to retrieve before we… and I’d like to relieve myself of this bag. I don’t think a sack of soiled garments makes for an ideal wedding guest.”

She smirked, thinking of all the things she was prepared to divest herself of in order to make it a proper union, and turned her heated cheek to the wind in an attempt to cool herself. “I go wherever you go, Jaime.”

He nuzzled her nose a little before straightening and leading her in the opposite direction. 

After a false turn or two where he got himself turned around obviously distracted by her proximity, where more than once he could not help but steal a kiss from her surprised mouth just before they turned back into the street, and she swatted at his shoulder for taking liberties in public but then tucked herself into him all the closer with a sweet smile, they finally arrived at the door and walked up the stoop. “I will not make you wait in the cold, but I hope you’ll wait in the foyer. I would rather you see the place when you can be mistress of it.” 

She thought of the weight of that, somewhat nervous. She would eventually be mistress of Casterly Rock as well. Those grounds and house at least she knew. But this was a new world, and the expectations of a city hostess were quite different than in the country. She took a breath and nodded. 

He squeezed her hand and smiled at her wickedly. “Also, I do not trust myself with you just yet. I cannot have you wandering into rooms where I might catch you all alone” 

Brienne flushed brightly and tightened her hand on his with a slight gasp, grasping his meaning remembering how she herself had just behaved on finding him alone; Jaime chuckled, reaching for the knocker just as a manservant opened the door before them with a smile, somewhat out of breath. “Captain Lannister.” Peck took in Brienne's height, his eyes wide. 

“Peck. Where is your good wife?” 

Peck blinked. “Just upstairs, captain. She spied you from the window and called down to me.” 

Jaime smiled. “Fetch her if you would.” 

“Oh yes sir.” Peck ran off leaving Jaime to close the door behind Brienne. She was inside now, though not quite here. So close. She kept her hands clasped before her while they waited, and Jaime struggled to keep his distance, unable to not equate his fantasies of her in this house with her true presence. Oh the sinful things he had done to her in this very house in his daydreams. The sweet closeness of her now flooded him with memories and longing. Soon, there would be no inhibitions to keep him from her. 

Her eyes wandered a bit and he sensed her apprehension. He wished her to be comfortable. Perhaps she was not as fond of being here as he was of having her. “Brienne.” She turned her eyes back to him. “It needn’t be for long. We can leave for the country as soon as you wish. We needn’t even go to the country, we can go somewhere else altogether if it would please you.” 

She shook her head. “I confess I do not enjoy the city. It is not so much the people or the noise as much as the lack of space. The walls all feel so close together, neighbor on top of neighbor…” 

“You like your space and your privacy. Don’t want neighbors spying on your wanton ways.” His eyes bore into hers.

“Jaime!” 

“No, I know, it’s not that. Ah - you’re afraid you will be jealous. You think there are so many pretty girls here in the city, how will you ever keep me indoors? Better I be kept at least a mile from other women so that you might have me to yourself all day every day, no? Well, I heartily agree.” She gave him a patient but annoyed look, eyebrow raised. He loved this game. Watching her irritation mount never failed to thrill him. It was just like before. “Perhaps I should go to the country and you stay here. Keep me away from other women, and keep yourself safe from my advances.” 

“Yes I suppose you needn’t worry about me here, no other man would look at me with serious interest and our marriage would be safe indeed.” She was pouting a bit now with scowl etched in her brows.

Jaime drew up close to her, risking a light brush of his hand to hers. “They’re all fools. You are by far the most deserving and lovely wench in the whole city.” She huffed out his name and chuckled just as Peck and his wife reached the base of the stairs. 

“Miss Tarth, I’d like to introduce the household staff. Peck whom you’ve already seen, and his wife Pia. The Peckledons came with the place when I bought it last week, and they’re incredibly obliging” 

“Bought? Jaime…” 

“I told you,” he said sotto voce, “Everything I did, every thought was of being here and being close to you. If you hadn’t— well I at least might still be close, or— but no matter.” Jaime’s heart lurched at the dark thoughts that had crossed his mind before she had accepted his proposal. Brienne didn’t completely comprehend the mist that crossed his eyes then as he turned back to the staff. “Friends, this is Miss Brienne Tarth. She is at this moment a guest of this house, but in a very short while she will be mistress of it.” He gathered up Brienne’s hand in his. 

“What have you sold the place already, sir?” 

Pia struck her husband’s arm. “No, you silly man. Can’t you see that the two of them are positively glowing? Begging your pardons of course.” 

At that, Brienne turned bright pink across her cheeks and Jaime refused to stifle the chuckle that rose from his chest. “Well assessed, madame. Miss Tarth and I are to marry this very afternoon.” 

Pia came over and hugged the two of them joyfully, tears in her eyes which Brienne did not understand - the woman was just that excitable. 

“Now I have some things I would settle before we go to the sept. Brienne I ask that you wait here, there’s a bench there behind you, I promise to not be more than a quarter of an hour, will you be warm enough?” 

“Yes,” she whispered, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth. 

He pressed her hand with a look of concern and then turned - Pia, Peck, please take my satchel up to my chamber, I’ll be with you shortly." Peck nodded picking up the bag but was hesitant to leave them alone. His wife dragged him out. 

Jaime turned to Brienne. “Are you alright? Is this too much already? And I— I told you, I am—“ she put her finger to his lips to quiet him, the feel of it burning through them. 

“This is not too much. You are not too much. It is just different. It’s already more lively than living in Kingspyre place and there are twice the people in that house! I will not lie and say that I prefer it to ho— to Casterly Rock, but I think I shall not find it disagreeable once I catch up to speed.” 

He stood on the balls of his feet and kissed her forehead with meaning, a promise. “I just want this all to be perfect for you. I want to share everything with you, I want you to have everything you desire.” 

She smiled, hesitantly at first and then with great feeling, “Then I am already the wealthiest woman in Westeros, to have such a husband who would offer me the world for so little in return.” 

“So little? You’re quite tall, my love, or had you forgotten?” 

“Jaime that is not…” He quieted her with a kiss that made her heart flutter.

“I know. Brienne your happiness is indelibly tied to my own. Do not undersell yourself.” He winked rakishly at her, drawing out a laugh as he began to walk away. 

“Oh - Jaime?” 

“Yes?” he searched her eyes. 

“I was to be staying with the Starks this evening.” 

“Oh… I would not…” 

His eyes clouded over as if she’d doused the light from all the windows of the house. She rushed into an explanation, desperate to bring the light back. “I only mean that I should like to write a note to Catelyn… I would like to wait to tell everyone of our happiness until we see them tomorrow, but I would not have her worry.” 

He brightened again, “Nor I. Good of you to think of it. I would not have Starks or Tyrells or, gods forbid, Lannisters knocking down my door if you were deemed missing. I’ll see that you have the necessary materials.” 

“Thank you.”

He gave her a smile full of unspoken promises, and made his way upstairs.

Pia was already moving to bring his sweat-stained garments downstairs to be laundered. He stopped her and asked that she bring Brienne pen and paper before coming back upstairs to consult on another matter. Then turning to Peck he set about exchanging his grey coat for the blue one, and running off a list of tasks for them to accomplish in their absence, which the man marked down for him. Jaime smiled at his reflection in the mirror. Today he would be wed to the only woman he could ever love and who would ever truly love him in return, not for his looks, or his money, or his prestige, but for his heart and not in spite of his flaws but in conjunction with them.

Pia retrieved pen and ink and paper from the desk in the study and brought them to Brienne, who perched on the bench near the small table in the hall and wrote out her note. 

When Pia came back upstairs, Jaime asked her to stay and prepare a meal from what was on hand and send a courier for whatever else she might need, sparing no expense. Peck was to take on the task of delivering Miss Tarth’s letter to Hunter Place, and from thence going into the market at the south end of the city in search of apples - any apples he could find, and from thence to the Middle Ward to pick up some other items. Peck reviewed the list and then tucked it into his inside pocket and went to assist Pia with her task of turning over the bed. Jaime opened the top drawer of his armoire and removed the small black velvet pouch in the corner then, turning back to his nightstand, he retrieved the string which she’d tied his hair with a few days before, gleefully dropping it into the bag as well before slipping it into his coat pocket. 

Downstairs, Brienne re-read the note to her friend to ensure that she had adequately thanked her for her assistance and continued secrecy:

> **Catelyn--**
> 
> **Please be so good as to keep the enclosed information to yourself until we can be on hand to share our joy with everyone. Please trust that all is well. All is very well. My heart overflows with happiness to be able to report such glad news.**
> 
> **Captain Lannister and I have reconciled fully and will be wed this very day, perhaps before you can even have had an opportunity to read these words. I wish that you and your family could be there to witness it, to see us say the words, but both my intended and I are quite determined to end our waiting. **
> 
> **I hope you will not think us rash in this, my dear friend. We have suffered so without each other, I would not see it go on a moment longer than necessary, and he is of the same mind. We will present ourselves tomorrow evening at dinner in Hunter Place, and will brave Lady Olenna’s opinions then, from the joyful safety of our union. **
> 
> **I shall embrace you tomorrow, but until then please know that you have my endless thanks for your role in our reunion, and for making right the errors of the past. And know that you and yours shall always have a place in our hearts, and at our table. **
> 
> **With endless affection, **
> 
> **Brienne (for a moment longer) Tarth**

She folded the note and tucked the ends in, labeling it with Catelyn’s name and direction. Then remembering the gloves she’d tucked into her pocket the night before, she sought them out and put them on just as the large clock at the end of the hall chimed a quarter of an hour past one. 

As if on cue, Jaime appeared at the top of the stairs. He had changed into the beautiful blue coat that had matched her dress the night of the concert, and she wished briefly that she’d not sent her clothes ahead to Hunter Place, but there was nothing to be done for it now. He was not vain but he was proud, and she loved him for it. Jaime was silhouetted against the window on the landing as he descended, and she could not make out his expression, but she felt the heat of it. She stayed rooted in place, observing his request that she wait to explore the house until it was hers. She suspected that he meant until he might kiss her in every corner of it, but she would not press him. There would be time enough. 

From his perspective, she was finally exactly where she was meant to be - never again would he need to come down these stairs and not know her presence there. He paused just before the last step and took in her figure as the truths of the afternoon finally sank in. Brienne was going to marry him, she would be his wife, they would come back to this house and it would no longer be just a house, but a home, for she would be there. She did not come to greet him, as she was adhering to his request that she not wander so far from the door until he could fully introduce her properly to every room of the house, but he could not help but think that if she had, he would now be a few inches taller than her from the step, and might kiss the crown of her head, stroke her glowing cheek, and then run his fingers through her hair and—

_ No, Jaime. Stop. There will be time enough. _

He finally descended the final step and met her in the hall. She smirked in her appraisal of him, and he grinned knowingly. He might never stop testing the limits of her grace, but she would make it entertaining at least. He saw her note into Peck’s able hands, and then escorted her out the door. 

* * *

The nearest sept, the one built on the site of Harrenhal’s last weirwood, was some seven streets over, but now that they were in each other’s arms and the chill of the morning was fading, they were in no great hurry to arrive. The afternoon was bright, Jaime’s heart was light, and they were unlikely to encounter any of their acquaintance in this part of the city. His lady was beside him and soon she would be his. He did not know if he had ever felt this happy before. 

Brienne felt the joy that was radiating off of him and sensed it reflected on her own face. Anyone looking on them would not mistake them for anything other than the pair of besotted fools that they were. No one would ever know that just hours prior they had both been in the deepest of seven hells wondering if they would be lost to each other forever. Brienne shuddered at the thought and Jaime pulled her in closer.

“Are you cold my love?” he rubbed her newly gloved hands affectionately with his own. Peering into her face he grinned at her rather smugly, “Soon, I will be at liberty to use any means within my power to keep you warm. Very warm. So warm you will be dripping with sweat.”

Brienne blushed but then, surprised him by smirking and responding huskily, “Must you think of sparring now captain? We are on our way to be wed. You’re quite cavalier to be boasting about how you plan to violently thrust your sword up against mine any chance you are given.”

Jaime laughed a big carefree laugh that warmed her heart near to bursting. “As your husband, all of my swords will be at the ready and at your disposal, my lady. I swear to use them wisely. As for the violence, I would not engage you in an encounter I did not think you would readily enjoy, for I mean to please you, and well, always, my love.” His voice dropped as he stared heatedly into her eyes. She did not look away and he saw there in those lovely eyes the silent promise to unquestioningly meet him on any battlefield, anywhere, until the end of their days. It was thus, caught up in a world of their own, that they arrived at their destination. 

The sept stood at the center of the old godswood grounds. It was larger than any to be found in the country, but by no means the largest or grandest a city like Harrenhal had to offer them - but it was the oldest in this part of Westeros, steeped in memory and covered in ancient art. The exterior walls gleamed white in the sunlight; the ornately carved wooden doors were heavy as if they protected a great treasure within; the sun shone through the resplendent stained glass ironwork windows and cast an otherworldly light over the central altar and the stone steps leading up to it; and the exquisitely detailed tile floors, painted murals, and representations of the gods on the interior walls took Brienne’s breath away. 

She found herself overwhelmed with the mere thought of being worthy of marrying Jaime here. He parted from her only to go and seek the septon, and she stood at the feet of the Maiden, tears shining in her eyes. She felt one slip down her face as the significance of what they had come to do rocked her. She bent her head and silently mouthed her prayers for the Maiden’s intercession--

_ May I always be able to make him as happy as he has made me this day. May I always find the strength to give of myself the way he so effortlessly gives of his love and affections. May I find the wisdom to help him see his own worth and how much I esteem him in every way.  _

She followed the path of stars on the mosaic of the floor until she reached the next alcove. Of all the gods, this one had been her father’s favorite and hers, the god most beloved on the isle of her childhood. The windows at this corner of the building caught the full light of the sun at this hour, and she lifted her face to the light with eyes closed as if basking in the blessings of the Warrior.

_ May I always have the ability to lead him to the light, and may I always find the right path to follow him, wherever he may go, even when he’s lost at sea within himself. May I be granted the strength of a warrior whenever he is at his lowest, that I may lift him up.  _

Jaime preceded the septon out of his chambers and walked the curve of the hall. The elderly man had agreed to marry them that very hour provided that Jaime pledged a donation to the faith’s charity in support of the sept’s poorest constituents. While Jaime made his way back to Brienne, the septon had gone in search of a witness from among those kneeling in prayer that afternoon. As Jaime rounded the corner, he stopped, his breath catching in his throat. 

Brienne was standing tall, her shoulders back, her mouth moving in prayer, her face turned to the light and bathed in the shades of cobalt and aqua and cerulean of the windows that surrounded the Warrior’s altar. Her features were strong but graceful, prominent and bold, but defiantly soft - unique, unlike any other. There was a heroic edge to her jawline, brow, and shoulders, and an elegant beauty to her large lips, her high cheek bones, and her lithe limbs; and when she turned in his direction as if sensing him and opened her eyes to look straight at him, a light so pure emanated from within that it was almost as if he was looking into the sun.

_ In this light, she looks like a beauty. In this light, she looks like a knight.  _

They approached one another, drawn to each other, meeting in the center aisle between pews made for worship where men and women knelt in supplication to the gods, where men and women laid down their defenses and opened up their hearts to expose the true longings of their souls, where they made promises and clung to hope with only their faith to guide them. Jaime had never been terribly keen on faith, never believed in much of anything. But he believed in her. Jaime took both of Brienne’s hands in his one and clutched them to his heart.

“Are you ready, my love?” he whispered.

She smiled and slid her gloved fingers through his. “I’ve never been more ready for anything, Jaime, ” she whispered back voice full of feeling and eyes shining with unshed tears.

Jaime smiled, “Nor I.”

Hands clasped, they walked up the aisle to the altar, determined to symbolically sanction what they had always known deep within their hearts. The septon greeted them with a toothy smile. He turned to the older couple in the front pew who had agreed to witness the marriage and nodded, and began, “We welcome and ask blessings for this man and woman in the name of the Seven. What brings you before the gods this day?” 

Jaime squeezed Brienne’s hand tight and heard his voice ring out loud and clear, “We wish to wed.”

“And who presents this woman here today?” the septon looked at Brienne meaningfully.

Brienne steadied her nerves and spoke out just as loudly and clearly as Jaime had. “My parents are deceased, your holiness. I have reached my majority and present myself in good faith and in keeping with the laws of the seven who are one in my heart. I come of my own free will and judgement.” Jaime gazed at her lovingly and found himself standing taller as his chest filled with pride for this wonderful woman he would soon have the privilege to call his wife. 

“Very well. Let us commence. In keeping with the laws of man and the wishes of the gods, I ask that you examine your consciences and if there be any impediment as to why your union should not take place, this is the time to voice them or forever keep your peace for bonds ordained by the gods shall never be broken; whatever vows are given will be received with binding finality, and whatsoever is here sanctified today will remain so until the end of your days.” The septon waited a few moments in silence, observing no change in either of their aspects. His eyes ticked down to their clasped hands. “I see that your hands are already joined.” He smiled kindly at them. “Therefore, I ask you to make your vows to one another now.” The septon held out his hand and motioned to Jaime to carry on.

Jaime took a deep breath and looked deeply into Brienne’s eyes. “I, Jaime Lannister do promise you Brienne, that all of my strength, all of my love, and all of my faith will always be yours and with you wherever you go, from this day, until I draw my last breath. I vow to to protect you, to seek and heed your counsel in all things, trusting your judgement before my own. Brienne, I have loved you since before I knew you, I knew it from the moment I first saw you, for my soul has sought yours every moment since then. You see me as I am, with all of my imperfections, and love me nonetheless. And now I take you for my lady and wife. I vow to keep you safe, to share your joys and shoulder your sorrows, and to honor you in every way that I know how with every fiber of my being. No words will ever be enough to convey the depth of my feelings for you, but may my actions remind you every day that I love you so, so very much.” His voice wavered and his eyes brimmed over with tears of happiness. Smiling shyly he released her hand and reached into his coat pocket. “I wish to secure my promise with this ring. It belonged to my beloved mother. And I have kept it with me, may it remind you always that I am yours.”

Brienne took a shaky breath as he held the ring out for her. Sunlight caught the depth of the jewels that crowned the setting - a deep, vibrant blue. Sapphires. Sapphires on his mother’s ring. Separate individual tears slid down her cheeks from each eye as she felt him slide it onto her finger. She had never beheld a more beautiful ring, nor a more beautiful soul, both so willingly given, and so exquisitely dedicated, so achingly reverent and so perfectly molded to bring her joy. As he slid the ring past her knuckles, she was surprised that it fit, for she was sure his mother could not have had fingers like her own. She looked up into his face in surprise and there was a knowing glint in his eye. Of course he had made sure it would fit her finger, just as he had made sure the gloves she had worn into the sept would fit. She mouthed the words “I love you” and squeezed his hand before turning back to the septon.

Jaime would never forget the look in her eyes, those eyes that matched the ring now safely, finally, on her hand. He couldn’t tell her then, but someday he would, what a journey that ring had taken to get to her hand. How he had parted from her at Casterly Rock with the single goal of retrieving that ring from its box at home and getting it properly set for her. He might have proposed without it - under a tree in the apple orchard, or from the ground with a sword at his throat when she beat him again, or lying side by side in the meadow watching the clouds roll from east to west. But he wanted to do it with that ring. So he left. And by the time he came back… and then he left, went off to war, to the sea, and the ring came with him, secured with strong cordage about his neck, hanging above his heart. He knew he shouldn’t have, that it could have been lost or destroyed, or worst of all attached to him when opportunistic grave robbers came to relieve his mangled body of his effects on the shore. He should have left the ring somewhere safe, but he couldn’t. He wanted it with him. Despite his anger and bitterness and grief, he wanted her with him. He finally put it away again when he came ashore injured, but after Maidenpool he knew that he could hide it away from himself no more than he could now hide his love for her. 

The septon nodded gently at Brienne, and she took a breath. She gathered up her courage and looked into his eyes for strength, finding it in the love emanating from his emerald depths. He rubbed his thumb along her wrist and smiled sweetly at her. “I, Brienne Tarth do promise you, Jaime to love you with all that I am, for all that you are until I draw my last breath. I dreamt of this day, longed for it without hope. I never thought this happiness could ever truly be mine. I never thought that someone I loved so much would ever love me equally enough. But you do, and you have, and you are always enough. Jaime, I love everything about you. You make me feel so cherished and so safe and so loved.” 

Brienne paused as the weight of her words formed a lump in her heart. Jaime was crying freely now and she had never seen anything more endearing as the love that shone in his eyes for her, and she allowed herself a small hiccuping chuckle at his emotion. She took a deep breath. “Jaime, I vow to love you, to protect you against artifice and malice, to seek and keep your council, to cherish and honor you as well as you deserve, for you deserve every happiness. You truly are the best of men and I am so honored that you chose me.”

Jaime brought her hand to his lips. “Oh, Brienne.” His tears rolled down his cheek and fell softly on her hand, kissing it, consecrating it, watering it like a garden from the wells of his love. “I would always choose you. In every iteration of this life, I would choose you.” They stared at one another lost together in this bliss they had not dared to imagine could be theirs but had hoped for in spite of all obstacles thrown in their path.

The septon spoke and broke their shared reverie. “I will now bind you together.” He reached for a white cloth on the alter which had been set aside for that purpose.

“Wait.”

They looked at each other, both having spoken at once. Brienne chuckled first, blushing prettily across her cheeks only, endeared by the look of confusion in her lover’s eyes. “You have given me a token, a talisman of protection. She kept her eyes on him and began unbuttoning her pelisse. 

Jaime’s eyes went wide and he bent his head to her. “Brienne, what are you doing?”

She smiled up at him and removed the coat entirely. She looked to the septon who seemed to understand what she was doing because, although it was certainly unorthodox, he nodded and let her carry on. She stepped around Jaime, and laid the coat across his shoulders, whispering, “Jaime, I take you for my lord and husband. I bring you under my protection. I shall shield your back and protect you from all manner of evils.” Jaime felt the cloak on his shoulders, still warm and heavy, just like the meaning of her words upon his heart. He had never felt so loved or secure. It was a sensation at once so foreign and yet deeply satisfying that he was overcome with emotion. There are some holes so profound that only true love can fill them. 

When Brienne returned to her spot, Jaime’s tears were flowing freely again, so she reached for his hand and held it tightly. She felt him squeeze her fingers just before he let go and turned to the septon. 

“I have brought our own binding.” Jaime released Brienne’s hand once again to reach into his pocket and produced the cord he had placed there earlier. He smiled with a gleam in his eye as Brienne smirked remembering how her stomach had fluttered whilst tying back the curls of his mane with the proffered cord.

“Very good.” The septon took the string from Jaime and waited for them to join hands once again. He then began winding it around their wrists, binding them as one, tying it tightly to symbolize their union. “Repeat after me: We were two and now are one, bound together. May no man break what love has won, these bindings hold forever.”

As they said the words in unison Brienne felt the cord tighten around her wrist, seeming to emblematically cut her veins until she felt it swim in her blood and attach itself to her heart, the other end tied to his. They were connected now, hand to hand, and heart to heart. Jaime pressed his warm palm and fingers into hers reaching for that proverbial string and holding on tight. Brienne’s love the unbreakable string in the chasm, keeping him afloat; he was holding on tight and never letting go.

The septon raised his hands above them and begged the gods’ blessing. “May the seven who are one watch over you and guide your steps in this path of life. May they always serve to remind you, when doubt sets in, that what has been bound together must remain as one lest the splitting fracture you both. May those doubts be lessened by the memory of the love shared here today from your own souls, and vowed never to be torn asunder. You may now seal those vows with a kiss.” He nodded to Jaime, “Please repeat after me: with this kiss I pledge my love and protection.”

Jaime leaned in slowly and repeated the words fervently. “With this kiss I pledge my love and protection,” he hesitated, and then whispered, “and enough love for a hundred lifetimes.” He stared into her eyes before letting them drift to her soft waiting lips. Pressing his lips gently but firmly to hers, he felt heat radiate into his chest as the knowledge that this kiss was not the end of their road, but the bricks at the very beginning of it. Brienne smiled into his lips as he extended the kiss beyond what was considered proper and slanted his mouth to deepen it, which was definitely not considered proper for the middle of a sept. When he gently licked her bottom lip she opened up to let him in, as she always would. Propriety be damned, he was hers and she was his, before gods new and - if legend of the roots of the old weirwood running beneath their feet were true - the old as well. 

When they finally pulled themselves apart the septon was looking at them with a lifted brow but the corners of his mouth were drawn up in amusement. They both startled a little when the couple in the front row began to clap. Then, the septon used a small blade to ceremonially release the top cord of their binding on their arms but Brienne held fast to her end and tied it quickly around her wrist before tying Jaime’s end around his. She looked into his eyes and said, “I am yours and you are mine.”

Jaime leaned in and kissed her again before speaking the words against her lips, “I am yours and you are mine, forever until the end of time.” He put an arm around her waist and pulled her close to him. “Let us go home my lady. The first of many feasts awaits us.” His words were innocent enough but Brienne could tell from the smoldering look in his eyes that he was not merely speaking of meat and mead, but of partaking in the kind of banquet that would kindle their souls and set them alight both from within and without. 


	32. Chapter 32

The air was warmer when they walked back to the house in Oak Keep. Standing there together at the threshold of their now-shared home as man and wife affected them both so profoundly that the moment seemed to sink down into their bones, and the air itself to reverberate with echoes of feelings and actions not yet lived. Jaime’s voice was impassioned as he leaned in to kiss her, “Welcome home, wife.”

Would Brienne ever get used to Jaime kissing her so freely and calling her his wife? Not terribly likely, but if this tingle running down her spine was the price she would have to pay for it, she could only rejoice.

Peck opened the door and welcomed them inside; seeing the ring on Brienne’s finger and her blue pelisse still draped over the captain’s shoulders, he smiled and jubilantly congratulated them. Pia ran to the door and embraced first Brienne and then Jaime in a warm hug before bustling back to the dining room where she was putting the finishing touches on their wedding feast.

Brienne found herself once more standing in the foyer as Jaime carefully removed her coat from his shoulders and stroked it lovingly before hanging it up. He turned to her, voice low and seductive, his earlier loving looks now taking on a hungrier edge as if he wanted to engulf her, consume her whole. “Brienne,” he twined his fingers with hers and pulled, “let me take you on a tour of our home.”

He wrapped that arm around her waist and molded himself to her side. Her strong body felt delicious up against his. Slowly he ran his hand from her waist up her other side to feel the shape of her muscles and ribs under his fingertips. “This as you know is the foyer, the entrance where the house... opens up and makes itself accommodating.” He ticked his forefinger up to another rib and traced its contours. “It’s a tight space but that only means it will feel snug and warm when full.”

Brienne felt her body buzzing, heating as his words took on a meaning she could not quite grasp, but if that afternoon’s earlier activities were to be a guide, she was well on her way. His tone was unmistakably predatory, and she was shivering like his prey. He was luring her with each carefully chosen word, further into the house, and further into that place deep inside of her that made her stomach flutter.

He guided her into the next room, “This is the sitting room. It boasts two very comfortable sofas and some less accommodating but still quite spacious chairs. You may test their firmness and comfort later if you like. But first, let me show you the study, just here….” She barely had a chance to take in the space, being distracted so by his hand blazing a slow-moving fiery trail up her ribcage and the feeling of his person pressed firmly against hers burning hotter than the midday sun on a summer’s day.

He guided her through another doorway that led to a smaller room, the walls lined with beautifully-carved wooden bookshelves. It was darker than the rest of the house, the windows facing the rear garden covered in soft hangings, yet warmer as the fire had been lit. She stepped to the center of the room and took in her surroundings, ready to agree that it was quite a comfortable space, when she felt his lips grazing the shell of her ear. 

“At this desk I painstakingly wrote you that letter. Right here…” He walked her backwards until the back of her thighs were pressed firmly against the edge of the desk and pushed her further still until she was sat upon it, legs pressed together. “This is where I poured out my heart and soul for you. It’s quite sturdy and serviceable a surface, is it not?” Brienne’s eyes darkened as her pupils expanded. Her chest rose and fell as his hand traced the last few ribs beneath her breast. His fingertips teased her there until they crawled upwards over the curve of one achingly tight nipple.

She sighed heavily, a sound that ended with a whimper, and placed her hands flat on the desk behind her to keep herself upright as he slowly leaned into her. “I was so worried," she said, "The thought that I -- I had to come to you.”

“And you did…” he looked at her brazenly, testing the waters of her patience for him, “I longed to take you on that wooden floor when we were on our knees together…” He pushed into her further, until her knees parted for him and shifting her skirts; boldly, he placed himself into the cradle of her sex. Brienne felt his desire both emanating from the heat of his words and the friction of his manhood as it rubbed hard into her. She saw the grin on his face become feline in nature as he inched ever closer. “Would you have let me take you Brienne? After your advances a few minutes later, I think you would have…. my love… my wench…” His lips pressed against hers hungrily and Brienne instinctively pressed back, easing her weight onto one arm so that she might wrap the other about his shoulder. She dove her fingers into his hair, sending shivers down his spine, and anchoring his head to her as she carded through his silky golden curls.

Jaime groaned at her roughly, and she instinctively slipped her tongue into his mouth to taste his pleasure. 

_ Does he ache for me as much as I ache for him now? This need, this endless need… _

A deep rumbling in his chest that erupted into a throatier groan as he deepened their kiss told her that his need matched hers, and caused desire to pool in her stomach. The reservoir of need grew and threatened to overflow and seep from between her thighs as he suckled on her jaw and neck while rocking into her, one arm around her waist and his hand now buried inside her bodice where he kneaded her breast. His palm brushed against her pert nipple, shooting sparks of pleasure directly into her core.

Jaime pulled back panting hard, holding her still though her mouth tried to follow him. “Yes, this desk is very serviceable. But wait until you see the dining table... it is as big as our bed upstairs.” 

_ Our bed _. 

Pressure, nerves, suddenly boiled up from Brienne’s stomach. She wanted nothing more than to be with Jaime. But she had never shared a bed with any person. And only rarely had she even pictured Jaime in bed with her - it had almost always been elsewhere. But this, this seemed much more intimate than any of her previous fantasies.

The image of laying Brienne down in the large bed upstairs had been with him since the day he’d taken the house. That bed with its soft down, where he could worship every inch of her with his hands and mouth, part her legs and finally slip deep inside of her, was almost more than he could bear but he meant to do this right. It was their wedding day and he would make it special. He would make her feel special. He would pour his love over her slowly like drizzling sweet honey over freshly picked fruit.

_ Yes, my sweetling, I will lick the honey from your hair like a hungry bear, but first I will feed you, my maiden fair... _

“Let us go into the dining room. The Peckledons have prepared a wedding feast for us and I am starved.” Brienne gripped the edge of the desk and looked up at him, her eyes heated, struggling to keep herself from shaking. “Are you not hungry, my sweet?” He smiled at her gently, feigning innocence.

Brienne licked her lips, “Famished.”

Pulling her waist forward and sliding her off the desk, he grabbed her hand and placed it in the crook of his arm where its position would prevent his from straying once again. He kissed her cheek softly, leading her through the study’s second doorway and into a corridor that opened up into a spacious room with a lavishly decorated table that seated twelve but had been set for just two at one end. Two ornately-embellished gilt candelabras with lit candlesticks were placed on either side of a centerpiece filled with deep red chrysanthemums, bright pink nerines, lavender blue dahlias and lilies of the field. A tray piled high with carefully arranged fresh fruits, topped with apples in three shades, sat nearby along with a smaller tray of candied fruits, nuts, small cakes, and rolls marking the spine of the table. Fine red and white china, polished silverware, and crystal stemware filled with claret marked their place settings.

Jaime pulled out Brienne’s chair before seating himself next to her at the head of the table. Pia came in then, carrying a tureen of hearty vegetable soup. Brienne felt Jaime’s hand reach for hers under the table and her back melted into the seat as he traced small circles into the center of her palm. 

_ How is it that I feel this sensation echoed between my thighs? _

When she looked at him his grin widened knowingly before slipping his hand out of hers and picking up his spoon. “Eat, Brienne, you will need your strength.”

He chuckled when Brienne scowled at him and said, “Sir, you are most distracting.”

“Am I? Good. Although, if you can still speak that means I have not distracted you as much as I had hoped. I must redouble my efforts later.”

She felt his foot sliding against her ankle and she glared at him.

“If you are not careful, I will end up with soup in my lap” she huffed.

“Hmmm, I do suppose that is the fastest way to get you very hot and wet.”

She looked horrified, darting her eyes toward the door to the kitchens, shrieking under her breath, “Jaime Lannister! Have a care, sir!”

He laughed out loud and slapped the table, unable to clear the mirth from his eyes. “Oh, I will be very careful, and very thorough. I promise… Mrs. Lannister.” He scooped up another spoonful of soup and brought it to his mouth, boldly slurping it without breaking eye contact with her, enjoying the way her entire upper body seemed to turn the color of the nerines at the center of the table. 

* * *

Courses of freshly prepared meats and vegetables graced the table. Brienne ate little, her hunger coming from somewhere else. Jaime’s continuous stream of heavily-coded language extracted blush after blush from her, but it was the way he handled the dessert course, biting and licking a mottled red and green apple with a gleam in his eyes, which ignited the deep ache at her core that made her thighs, slick with need, slip together as she searched for some relief; not wanting to give Jaime too much credit for his ridiculous behavior, she breathed deeply, trying to keep her skin from brightening too much. Jaime held out the apple for her, much as he had done a few days before, and Brienne pursed her lips, then bit it demurely as she could. This time he didn’t let the apple go. He felt the force of her shaking body through the fruit. When he pulled it away, the juice ran down the sides of her mouth and he dropped the apple to move his hand to her face, to swipe at the juice with his thumb, feeling her heated skin

Bringing the thumb back to his mouth and sucking it clean he said, “Hmmm, very sweet.” His groin had become achingly tight throughout the meal, and he felt himself harden even more as he watched Brienne’s teeth tug and bite her bottom lip, betraying the depth of her feeling.

He pushed back from the table and slowly moved to stand behind her, leaning in to whisper in her ear, “I have something for you upstairs, my lady.” He kissed her neck before pulling out her chair. She stood and he wrapped his arms around her. Despite her efforts to control herself, Brienne sought his mouth and kissed him hungrily until they both stood between the chair and the wall panting into each other’s shoulders, her back flat against the wall.

“Jaime,” she panted, “Peck... Pia…”

“...know it is our wedding day,” he replied, “and are making themselves scarce.” He caught his breath and slid his fingers through hers. “Follow me sweetling.”

Hand in hand, Jaime led her back through the house and up the main stairs. Halting at the last step he turned around and pressed his lips to the crown of her head. “I had some things set out for you in the room opposite mine…” he kissed her cheek, “ours.” I will be waiting for you in our bedchamber, here” he gestured to a large mahogany door with a brass knob. “Take as much time as you need. I shan’t… you’re here.” He kissed her other cheek, “you’re here. I have waited this long, I can wait as long as you need.” She took a shaky breath and pressed her lips up to his, then whispered against him, “I’ll be with you shortly.” She moved past him and walked through the opposite door and closed it behind her, feeling his eyes burning into her the whole way.

* * *

Once inside, Brienne took a deep breath and pressed herself against the cool wall. She felt in the expansion of her lungs that she had not fully breathed since they’d stepped back into the house. She felt lightheaded, confused, but determined. She stepped toward the bed and fingered the fine knit-edging of the nightdress and the beautiful azure-colored cotton robe. 

Hands shaking but deliberate, she divested herself of her clothes. She lifted the pitcher at the sideboard to confirm that it was full, and then poured tepid water into the basin there. She dipped the cloth at the side into it and swiped at the sweat at her joints, and the city dust on her limbs. The water felt cool against her heated skin and sent a shiver through her. Without giving herself too much time to consider the fact that Jaime had purchased these items with the express purpose of removing them from her, she slipped into them, leaving the belt of the robe loose so that it might be opened single-handedly. As a final touch, she loosened the ribbon from the end of her braid and combed her fingers through until her hair fell in loose waves around her shoulders. Slippers awaited her at the foot of the bed. They were fur-lined inside and made her cold feet feel instantly warm and comfortable, but then felt too warm and removed them. She might wear them throughout the house at another time. But she would go to her husband with feet and soul bared today. 

_ Jaime is going to see all of me. _

Brienne felt an unspoken fear grip her. What if her nude form was unappealing to him? It had been one thing to crawl beneath her skirts or clasp her through her dress. What if the sight of her thick waist, small breasts, muscled thighs and shoulders, and excessively freckled skin was too repugnant for him to touch? Would his love be enough to quell the tide of distaste? He would surely never tell her but she would see it in his eyes. She would know, and it would break her heart. It would break her heart, but she would never let him know that it had. She would be selfish in that. She would do her wifely duties and bear his children, and take whatever pleasure he could give her, and cherish it. Taking a steadying breath she opened the door and, clutching the robe at her sides, she walked across the hall to their bedchamber.

* * *

Jaime waited for her dressed in only his nightshirt, one that barely skimmed the middle of his muscular thighs. He sat on a bench at the foot of the large canopy bed. Unabating heat coursed through him as he glanced at the door, hearing her approaching footsteps. It opened slowly, and he stood to greet her. The late afternoon light shone through the window and pale drapes, and haloed her form. The color of the robe highlighted her eyes as he knew it would, eyes that were flitting nervously between him and the bed. There was a small tremor in her hand as she brought it up to rake it through her silvery blonde hair. Her cheeks were bright pink, and the flush crept and splotched down her neck and chest. He followed it down, following the line of the robe to wear it brushed the tops of her calves and revealed her pale ankles and bare feet taking hesitant steps into the room. 

_ Brienne, oh my Brienne. _

She let her eyes roam over him as he walked toward her like a lion stalking its prey, with long and graceful, but careful strides, his eyes seeking out her bare skin. His nightshirt became nearly transparent in the sunlight from behind him, and she could clearly see the outline of all of his muscles. His mane brushed his shoulders, and his emerald eyes flashed. He looked half a god, impossible to look at, and yet impossible to look away from.

He stood before her and lifted a finger to her chin, searching her eyes with a gentleness she felt she did not deserve. “Is this alright, Brienne? Perhaps, it's too soon.” He dropped his hand and took one step back as if he could not feel her yearning for him, as if he could not feel her burning through her layers. He looked away, licking his lips. “I would wait as long as you need... let us just hope that it is not too long however,” he ticked his eyes back to hers, ferocity in their depths, “for then I might have to seduce you in earnest,” he teased with a lopsided grin.

She squared her shoulders, feeling her insides fluttering. “Do not tease me, Jaime. As you well know, your… methods of seduction have been very... effective.”

His grin spread to both sides of his face, sustaining his pretense for another moment, “Have they?” He stepped closer again and toyed with the belt on her robe. “I do not know if you can be trusted on this matter.”

“Why not?” she demanded breathlessly, stretching her hands, aching to touch him.

He leaned in and dragged his nose up her cheek, holding back as much as he could. “You were not acquainted with my… methods until this afternoon… you cannot possibly know how to properly judge, don’t you think?” Her breath hitched and his hand fisted in her robe, pulling her a tad closer. “No, the only way to be certain is if I see the evidence for myself. Blushes I have seen on your cheeks, to be sure, but you blush so easily… I wonder…” His breath was warm against her neck, “I wonder if I can taste it on your skin?”

She gasped as she felt Jaime gently press his lips to her pulse, and then lick his way up to her ear where he took the lobe between his teeth. “Yes,” he whispered into her ear, “there is some evidence. But I need more.” He planted open-mouthed kisses along her jaw, pulling her closer, heat spooling in her center. He kissed her neck, her chin, her cheek, everywhere but her lips, the ache inside her building. 

Brienne’s skin was soft and warm, and tasted magnificently of her. Her scent was here, the unrelenting power of her scent - honeysuckle and cedar - was something he would never get enough of. And he would never need to. He had her. He would have her. Finally, achingly, he dove for her mouth, claiming it with his lips, his tongue, nipping at her swollen lips until she was moaning and open to him. “Better,” he moaned, “...much better evidence here.”

Jaime wrapped his arms around her waist tightly and pressed her into him. He turned her body, kicked the door closed with his foot, and walked her back towards the bed, pulling the tie of her robe easily and slipping his other arm into it as it fell open. 

She basked in the warmth of his embrace and arched into him, feeling her desire begin to drip. 

“Oh gods, Brienne. I have dreamt of this so often I do not know if I am still dreaming.” He brought his hand to her hair and held her. “How do I know you are real?” For a brief moment he appeared to be just as nervous as she was and his vulnerability made her bold. He needed her reassurances just as much as she needed his.

She leaned into his touch. “Jaime, if you are dreaming, so am I… and… I hope we never awaken.” Brienne cupped the sides of his face with her hands and brought his lips up onto hers again. She slid her hands along his jawline, memorizing its contours, relishing the scrape of his budding beard against her skin as she did the first time he’d held her that day, and let her thumbs graze his neck as her fingers wove into his hair, tugging him closer.

Her kisses became ravenous, she felt herself losing control, Jaime the only thing anchoring her to the earth. He raised one side of her nightdress and rucked it up around her waist so that he could feel her long taughtly muscled inner thigh with his fingertips. She widened her stance automatically, and he cupped her sex as if they’d done this dance a thousand times; she was already soaking wet with anticipation. 

He leaned his forehead against her shoulder, “Hmmm… yes, so wet for me, Brienne.” He slipped his middle finger into her folds and she moaned his name into his hair. “So wet and so warm… mmm… always so wet and so warm for me.” He stroked her, inside, “You want me.”

“Yes.”

He hooked his finger in her. “You need me.”

“Yes!” she cried, not truly understanding what it meant, only that it was true.

He swirled the finger inside her. “I need you, Brienne, more than I need air to breathe.” She let out a whimper of complaint as he pulled his hand away. He spoke, his voice barely above a whisper, husky from his throat, “You are wearing too many clothes.”

Brienne nodded and dropped the robe from her shoulders, onto the floor behind her beside the bed. Her hands fumbled at the laces around her neck as she watched Jaime pull his nightshirt up over his head and onto the floor, and she froze, relearning the muscles of his shoulders, his chest, his abdomen and then...

_ My gods he is beautiful! _

She had seen sculptures of beautiful nude men before, but nothing could have prepared her for Jaime’s vitality. The sight of him made her mouth dry, her hands shake, and the ache between her legs unbearable. Feelings of self-consciousness crept in again, and she felt suddenly terrified to be bared next to him in the daylight. But she pushed those feelings away desperately, consumed with yearning to touch him. She finally loosed the ties and opened the drawstring neck to spread around her shoulders. She met his glance and deftly let the fabric fall from her shoulders, baring herself completely to the scrutiny of his heated gaze.

His eyes skimmed over every part of her and what she saw reflected there in his countenance was not the half-anticipated disgust; it was quite the opposite. Jaime could not tear his eyes away from her form, as if each aspect he beheld was more fascinating and desirous than the last. Licking his lips, he approached her with half hooded eyes.

“Brienne…” Then, his lips and hands were on her almost everywhere at once. Kissing his way down her neck, he stopped at the hollow of her throat and lapped at the skin there, loving the feel of her chest panting against him as he touched her. He sank lower, his tongue over the mound of her breast, sucking the nipple into his mouth. His hand was between her legs again and his finger was circling her clit while his stump caressed her hips and backside

Widening his mouth to fit almost her whole breast into it, he suckled on it, hard, the peak of it sliding against the roof of his mouth. She felt fire liquifying in her veins as he pulled on her. Her toes curled against the wood floor and he moved his mouth back up her throat and she twisted against him, her mouth hot and wet, teeth scraping the muscle of his shoulder, trying to stifle her moans, hands gripping his biceps, as his fingers stroked her dripping lips, swirled, and then plunged into her.

Jaime pushed his leg between hers and pulled his mouth away, shaking her loose from his shoulder. “No, none of that. I want to hear you. I want to hear your pleasure.” Bumping his hip against her, he firmly nudged her back until the back of her legs were touching the bed. He put his hand on the small of her back and leaned her down onto it slowly until she was laying there sprawled before him - big blue eyes, flushed pink cheeks, heaving chest, and legs spread wide in an open invitation, her center glistening.

“Gods, you are so beautiful,” his voice was low and husky.

Brienne would have called him a liar but she could plainly see that he was in earnest. The gleam in his eyes was unmistakable. The only emotion left in the narrow rings of green around his blown pupils was that of unbridled passion.

She pushed herself onto her elbows and used them to push further back onto the bed to accommodate him as he moved to drape his body over hers, lean and smooth and graceful like a lion stretching out its limbs before bearing down to devour her, which was exactly what he meant to do.

Jaime wanted to taste and feel every inch of her beneath him. He pressed himself up against her so that he could cover every point of contact possible between them from head to toe. The feel of her bare chest, stomach, and thighs rubbing, pushing, sliding up against his while he rocked up and down, creating delicious sparks of friction, felt like sin incarnate. He ground his impossibly hard cock against her thigh and the sensation was so incredible he made himself stop before he spent on her legs again. He changed course quickly, moving back down her body onto his knees, and spreading her legs wider, the muscles of her thighs sinuous and warm in his hands, so that he could bury his tongue inside her and taste the honey generated by his passions.

She shouted his name once, and then he sucked and licked and fingered his name out of her over and over until the syllables tumbled out of her mouth so quickly it became a jumble of incoherent blissful sounds. He thrust two fingers into her, thumbing her clit until he felt her tense, and then replacing his thumb with the flat of his tongue. He did not stop his ministrations, thrusting and licking even as her screams became hoarse and her walls clenched around his fingers, her hips rising out of the bed, bucking against him hard, a flood of sweet nectar marking her release as she shook and moaned. 

When he finally looked up, she had unclenched her hand from where she had been fisting the bedspread; her eyes were closed, body loose and limber, limbs still quivering. He chuckled, “That’s a good wench. I like to see my efforts have not gone unappreciated.” He kissed his way up her body to her mouth.

“Jaime….” she trailed off, still floating on a cloud of bliss, trying to open her eyes weakly. 

“I love you” he said into her hair, wild and haloed around her head on the pillow.

Brienne opened her eyes and hooked both arms around his neck, her eyes meeting his, “I love you,” she arched into him again, “so much.”

He shifted against her, and Brienne felt something hot on her thigh. She grinned sheepishly and lifted her hips, pushing them both up until his cock was sliding against her entrance. He chuckled, “You are a wanton wench…” She hooked both of her legs around his arse, pulling him to her, then letting her arms fall back to the bed. He licked his lips. “But I dare not complain lest you stop!” Jaime pushed himself up on his stump and brought his hand down until he had gripped himself and nestled the tip of his cock in the notch of her cunt. Rubbing it up and down, teasing her clit, he watched her throw her head back and moan.

“Jaime, please…please… I… want to feel you… inside… please…”

Jaime’s stomach swooped with desire at her request and he finally, agonizingly slowly, sank into her until he was completely surrounded by her tight, wet, and scorchingly hot cunt.

He moaned into her chest, “Gods, you feel so good.”

He filled her, stretched her wider than she had ever been by her own hand, stretched inside more than she could have imagined possible, a slight sting of discomfort quickly, effortlessly overridden by the pleasure of him hot and thick and fully inside her. He stilled, settling his weight on her, both relishing the connection so many years and misunderstandings in the making. When he began to move, the ache inside her began to build on itself, one stroke, one thrust at a time until she felt like she was dying and flying all at once, until the world around her became just this feeling of him inside of her, filling her, going deeper and deeper, reaching a summit so steep and impossible within her that she had not had the ability to scale it without him.

Her hips began to move in time to meet his as he thrust harder against her. Their rhythm accelerated too rapidly and Jaime felt himself losing control. He brought his hand low, his thumb pulsing wet against her clit. He met her eyes, the spark of their connection throwing her over the edge. She jerked in his arms, her upper body lifting off of the bed and pushing against him as she screamed his name again. 

She clamped down on him in ever tightening spasms, her calves clutching at his thighs as if attempting to pull his whole body into the form of hers. There was nothing for him to do but let himself go entirely, slamming into her so relentlessly that he lost sense of the world around him. He erupted, emptying into her like a volcano, the last few thrusts of his hips like diving into that lava as it spewed out of him, surrounded him, and burned everything away, all of his doubts and fears and hesitations, until he was part of it: incinerating, molten, rolling downhill, and flowing freely, stopping only when his flesh and mind had cooled pressed up against and ensconcing the solid, steadying, grounding magnificence that was Brienne’s heaving chest.

He laid on her heavily for a few moments, moments that could have been hours or days, he was so disconnected to time; only connected to her. He rolled off of her only when he was sure that her residual spasms had ended, and she brought her hands up to stroke his shoulders. Once settled, he pulled her into his side. She curled against him, her face pressed to the sweat-covered golden hairs of his chest as he looped his arm and leg around her, not wanting to break contact. “That was most definitely not a dream.”

Brienne laughed freely, wonderfully, at a volume he’d never experienced, and he felt his heart soar. “No. Not a dream.” She kissed his chest. 

“Next time, I will do better.” He ran his arm down her side. “You just felt too good.”

Her fingers were sketching circles on his hip. “But that was wonderful, Jaime.”

He shook his head and pressed his lips to her hair. “Oh no, I can do better, wench. Just let me catch my breath a moment and I will prove it to you.”

Brienne shook her head and her hair tickled his chin as her nails scratched his thigh. “I love you Jaime, you silly man.”

“I love you Brienne, you glorious wench.”

* * *

Later that evening, Jaime went slower, taking time to kiss her forehead, nose, cheeks, lips, chin, shoulders, and suckle on every part of her skin between her breasts and navel. He traced her freckles with his fingertips and made patterns with his tongue, creating his own constellations where he enjoyed her best: along the insides of her thighs, in the crux of her hips and waist, on the nape of her neck, where her shoulder met her collarbones, in the indenture between her thumb and forefinger, and behind her knees where she trapped him, spasming as he tickled her there. 

Avoiding her knees on his next venture, he focused on the areas that elicited the best sounds from her. When Brienne squeaked, he went slower and increased the pressure of his tongue, making swirling motions until she moaned. When Brienne moaned he would suckle hard until she groaned loudly, and when she groaned loudly, he would crawl between her legs and lap at her until she called his name. It was in the fourth or fifth circuit of this torturously slow exploration and excavation of her pleasure that she began to whimper “Jaime, please” making him chuckle rakishly and flip her over so quickly and without warning that she found herself huffing exasperatedly into a mound of pillows.

He licked his way up her calves and thighs, stopping only to pull her hips up so that he could have better access to her opening where his thumb was parting her and creating an entirely new sensation as it crooked into a place she did not before know existed inside of her. Brienne panted and arched her back until she had to prop herself up on her elbows. She keened, and he made sure she was again dripping with desire before Jaime allowed himself to enter her. Encircling her strong waist with his arms, he slammed himself into her.

“Oh gods, _ Jaime! _”

His next thrust had him buried so deeply inside of her that he groaned his thanks to the gods and forced himself to slow the rhythm. Slipping in and out aching slow, he felt every inch of her tightening around him bit by bit. It was only when she wriggled against him and began slamming herself back into _ him _ that he increased the pace. They moved together creating their own sensuous waves of rapture. Sweat began to trickle down his chest and over his stomach, slipping between them. His hand and stump slid along her sweat-coated hips and he glided them along the beautiful curves of her muscular back as he allowed her to direct their motions. He leaned forward, desperate for her, gripping her shoulders to slow her down, until she was just writhing against him.

“Jaime, Jaime please gods… I can’t… Jaime… please…”

He ran his tongue up her back, sending a shock down her spine to her cunt, “Tell me what you want Brienne. I want to hear it.”

She gasped and writhed against him. “I want you to take me… hard… please… fast…. I … ache...” her words stirred his blood and his need for her. He reared back and then drove into her hard, making her drop her head back to the mound of pillows, her elbows weak.

“Like this?” His voice was hoarse and feral.

“Yes…” she moaned, her legs shaking, ”yes… more...”

Gripping her hips tightly he pounded into her again but this time she was there to meet him. “Seven hells!” he screamed as they thrust into each other at a punishing pace. Soon he was screaming her name as she tightened around him, her cries enveloped by his. Heat surging from his lower back and scorching through him. He squeezed his eyes so tight that all he could see were white stars and his hearing went so muffled that all he could hear was the thrumming of his own heart in his ears.

Shuddering, they both collapsed onto the bed, entwined together, sweating, panting, and lost to the world outside of their shared ecstasy. Brienne’s head turned to his on the shared pillow and she said weakly, “You have ruined me, sir.”

Jaime chuckled as he ran his thumb along her cheek, “How do you mean, dearest?”

“I am undone. I may never recover.”

Jaime’s grin widened. “I hope not but that won’t stop me… ever since I saw you naked in the fogs of the spa, I--”

Brienne’s head shot up and she shouldered the rest of his body off of her so she could stare into his face, “What do you mean, sir?”

His grin gained a teasing edge, “I saw you. You were washing… I had come in to retrieve my satchel and I did not think anyone was there. But you were… and I saw you. The night before we… met again.” He swallowed hard, his face becoming somewhat flushed with the memory of that day, how he had lost control and taken himself in hand only a few feet away from her.

“So you… did you see me when I… did you hear me…?” Brienne’s face went from flushed to crimson red.

“I saw you stand. I saw all of you. ...what do you mean did I hear you?” His brows were raised and furrowed in curiosity.

“I…” she dropped to her back and pressed a pillow to her face, then removed it, looking straight at him. “I screamed your name…” She looked down and focused on a point somewhere under his chin.

“Why would you scream my name in the middle of the spa?” He was genuinely puzzled now.

“Well… Why did I scream your name just now?” She looked back into his eyes pointedly.

“Because…” Realization of what she was saying slammed into him and almost knocked him off the bed. “You were thinking of me in the baths… did…” A sly smile crept up his lips. “Were you touching yourself while you were thinking of me?”

Her eyes were smoldering orbs of blazing blue fire. “Yes.”

Jaime groaned loudly. “Oh gods. Gods we… I took myself in hand thinking of you… I…. I couldn’t stop myself… but I had no idea… if I had known…. oh gods….” Jaime began to laugh thinking of what he would have done had he known, and all of the suffering that he, that they could have avoided. “Fools, we are both damned fools!” His laughter took on a hysterical edge that had him nearly crying.

Brienne laughed too and soon they were both rolling around on the bed together, panting full of mirth and giddy on love.

“That knowledge will keep me warm on cold nights, wench…”

“You needn’t ever recall it, for you shall never be cold again. I will be there to warm you, in the flesh.”

“Is that so?” He looked up at her in adoration. “I love this side of you my wanton wench.” His stomach rumbled loudly. “But if I am to keep up with you, I’ll need to restore my resources. I will go down to the kitchens and bring us up a morsel or two of nourishment.” Slipping the covers over her snuggly, he kissed her forehead before slipping out of the bed. Brienne’s eyes were drooping sleepily before the door had even closed behind him, and she sighed, feeling more sated than she had after all of the meals she had ever consumed in her entire life combined.


	33. Chapter 33

He leaned back into her. Her chest warm, her heart beating through his back. One arm ran under his to cross his chest and hold him to her; the other hand was in his hair, lathering suds through it. Her thighs accommodated his form as they had many times in the last several hours; knees were bent by his hips so that he might stroke her calves and ankles, savoring the feel of her muscles tightening whenever he inched up too high. Avoiding her ticklish knees, he was memorizing the map of her sensitivity with agonizing slowness, waiting for the next press of her against him. 

This proximity, this constant sliding against one another, skin slick with sweat or bath water or both, the tangling of their limbs, the way their bodies fit together perfectly, was intoxicating to her. The security of each other’s embrace. The way her freckles danced in changing light. The way his pupils expanded whenever hers met his. The feel of his fingers stroking her center right before he came, the way she gripped him inside. The way he could fit himself into her from front or behind without bending his knees or lifting her, and the increased pleasure when she tilted in such a way that he _ did _ bend his knees, or he pushed her against a surface in such a way that he _ could _ lift her. 

That morning before dawn they’d resumed their lovemaking yet again, and he had tried to drag her out of the bedroom to the guest room “to bless it,” he’d said rakishly before meeting her lips in a laugh that had him pressing her against the window in the hall. She’d yelped at the cold glass at her back and pushed back into him, but he’d held her here, his eyes fiery. She’d whined against his lips, “Someone will see.” 

He’d shaken his head. “No one will see. It’s too dark, and too early. Turn around.” His voice husky, she could not do anything but obey. She’d turned, and seen that it was as pitch black in front of her as behind her. “It’s a shame” he’d said in her ear, pressing her against the glass gently so that her chest shook against it as he slid into her. “I’d like people to see the goddess I married, and how hard she makes me.” Her sweat-slicked skin had slid against the glass as he took her again, her breath fogging it with each moan. 

She reached for the pitcher at the side of the tub and tipped his head down, pouring the water into his locks to rinse the suds away. When she was done, he leaned back again. He felt safe in her arms in a way he’d felt with no one since--

Not since youth, not since his mother had anyone treated him with such love, such gentle kindness. No one had since embraced him so openly. He was self-conscious about her arms around him, stroking the scars of battle on his body, fingering the ridges of his empty wrist, and felt himself shaking whenever she found another piece of him that he was ashamed of. But these were the arms he wanted around him. This was where he wanted to be.

She too felt open, finally truly comfortable in her own skin as he saw her. She was exposed, yet protected, bared, yet shielded. She felt him sink into her chest, clinging to her as if she was the shore keeping him from the riptide. 

She sensed his resistance to her touching his wrist which made her hold him to her all the more. She reached around him and lowered her right hand to his cock under the water, feeling him half-hard already, but weightless in the water. She kissed his neck, and then brought her lips to his ear. “You had to learn so much when you lost your hand, Jaime. You had to learn all over again…” 

“Brienne that feels…” 

“Tell me, Jaime. Tell me what to do. Let me be your hand. Tell me. Would you squeeze yourself harder…?” 

He groaned, his warm back pressing blissfully into her hardened nipples. She chuckled slightly under her breath, enjoying the sense of gentle, loving power over him. 

“Longer strokes, my love?” She slowed her movements. 

“Oh. That’s oh, gods, Brienne.” He was shaking, and then a sob echoed from his throat. 

“Shhh.” She wrapped her other arm around him again and held him tightly until his breathing eased and she felt his hips rise to meet her hand. “Don’t move.” She carefully extracted her legs from his sides and leveraged them to pull herself to standing behind him. She swung one leg around, then the other, moving around him gingerly, and then lowered herself carefully back into the water, the surface rising as she squeezed her knees between the sides of the tub and his hips, straddling him. Then she leaned forward and kissed him. Her back was cold, but the feel of his cock burning against her belly warmed her core. She shifted him back in the water so that he rested against the tub, and then took him in hand, raising her thighs up until she could align him with her entrance, and then sinking down onto him, the waters swirling. 

What followed was at first slow, sweet. She rocked against him gently, loving him, baring herself before him in a way that made his heart stop just to look at her. He marveled at the strength of her resolve and reveled in the strength of her body moving around him. He finally wrapped his arms around her and pulled her lower, pressing his heels into the floor of the tub and pushing up into her. Her breath caught and she threw her head back at the sensation, and picked up her speed, the waters churning around them. 

She held his face between her hands and nuzzled her forehead and nose against his, his cock finding a home in her over and over and over. She kept her eyes open to shine love on him, dragging him closer and closer to the edge. He felt his body tightening and looked to her for guidance but she looked peaceful, as if his pleasure was the only thing that mattered.

_ Like the maiden herself. _

He surged forward and kissed her, dragging her into his lap so that her knees were beyond his hips, and he was fully seated in her. He wrapped his arm around her waist and then slid his hand between them to play her clit, but she stilled then, her thumbs stroking his stubbled cheeks with a look of compassionate curiosity crossing her face. 

“Why do you do that?” 

He felt his belly ache for her. “Do what?” 

“Why do you only touch me with your hand?” 

He cocked his head saucily, misunderstanding. “I think I touch you with quite a bit more than that, Brienne.” 

“No, I mean… we’ve done this a fair few times now, and you always use your fingers on me when you’re inside me.”

He leaned back, realizing what she meant. “Are you asking me…” 

“Yes.” 

“Brienne it’s--” 

“It’s part of you. Jaime, there is not part of you that is unloved. I love all of you. And I want you to do what is comfortable for you. But Jaime I want to feel your hand holding me…” she leaned forward and mouthed his neck, and then brought her eyes to meet his, “And I want to feel your wrist on me.”

With a groan, he swapped arms, his hand running up her back to climb her spine, fingers at her neck, and then fist in her hair just as his wrist reached between them. She gripped his shoulders and rolled her hips against him harder, her neck arched as he pulled at her hair, grinding against his stump. A shudder emanated from her core, her walls spasming and squeezing around him as she pushed her hips forward, seeking him, needing him, and released into her limbs which shook as he thrust up into her once, twice more before he spent himself into her violently, her body quivering in his embrace. Her aftershocks became his as they ran into his pelvis and up his arm. And when she finally became liquid and slumped against him, she dragged his wrist up between them to hold it between their chests, protected by both their hearts. 

* * *

Brienne wore her blue pelisse over a new navy and white dress which Pia had gone and purchased for her after half the items Peck had come back with the day before had been too short for her stature. She pulled on her gloves and shawl as the driver came around the corner atop the carriage, and her husband helped her into it with his hand lingering on hers a little longer than proper for out of doors. He followed her into it, closed the door, and sat diagonally from her, and put his hand to her knee. She laughed and swatted his hand away before reaching for it again and twining it with hers. She stroked his wrist with a smile and then leaned back against the bench, pouting.

“Put those eyes away, wife. And don’t pout. It was your idea.”

“I’m rethinking my decision.”

“No, you’re right. We go… wait until the time is right. Take time to speak with my aunt and announce at dinner, not before. Won’t be long. Though honestly I’ll be amazed if they don’t know it from the second they see you. Why they might hardly recognize you, wench.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “...why?” 

He smirked. “Didn’t you know? Once you’re no longer a maid, your blushes vanish...”

She looked at him dubiously. “Jaime.”

“...into thin air.”

“Jaime.”

“No more bright pink when you think of me between your legs.”

She rolled her eyes in exasperation. “Oh gods.”

“No more crimson rose when I _ am _ between your legs.”

She had the nerve to look scandalized. “Jaime Lannister.”

He snickered as she turned a pale shade of coral. “There it is.” He leaned forward and kissed her hand. “So you still have a maiden’s heart after all, my love. I’ve not ruined you so much. Still…”

“Still what?”

His look grew serious. “Better keep your shawl on.”

She grew a teasing smirk of her own. “Why? A bit late to protect my honor, Captain Lannister.”

He bit his lip, fingered the fringe at the end of her shawl and flicked it up to lift it away from her shoulder where a pale lavender mouth-shaped bruise bloomed, peeking just beyond the lace of her collar, and directed her eyes toward it with his.

“Oh.”

He leaned back, eyes sparkling as she tugged on the collar. “You’re hardly fit for proper company _ Mrs. _ Lannister.”

She blushed very prettily across her cheeks at the moniker, darkening her freckles and highlighting the pinched scar on one side like a raised glyph indicating where she should be kissed; it was something he found she only did when she was purely happy. Then she draped the shawl back over her chest and crossed her arms, her lips pursed, thinking, eyes fixed on the bench next to him.

He cocked his head. “You’re worried.”

She nodded. 

“Why?”

“Lady Olenna she… I believe she attempted to throw me into Mr. Hunt’s path.”

He shook his head. “But that man had his own plans. He… they couldn’t have been working to the same end - he thought she controlled the Rock.”

She laughed. “I know. He... “ She looked out the window. 

“What?”

She shook her head. “I do not believe that she was aware of his machinations, only that she saw him as being interested and,” her eyes flicked up to see his aspect was now stormy and troubled, “Oh, Jaime. The morning after the concert, she and your cousins left me alone in the house, and Mr. Hunt called rather early. I thought…” she shrugged, “I thought it might be you at the door… after you left, I--”

“--I couldn’t--”

“--I answered myself, and then he insisted on coming in and--” 

Jaime now looked murderous. “--Did he touch you?” 

“No! That is… he tried to hold my hand when he proposed, but--”

“--he--”

Brienne could have almost laughed at his sudden pallor. She had already married the man and still he was terrified of losing her. She unfolded her arms and grabbed his hand. 

“--I laughed at him,” a smile crossed her face and tried to calm the worry on his face, “Jaime, he’s a fool. I called him a serpent and had him removed from the house.” She looked away again. “I doubt she will take kindly to that.”

“Wench…” 

She shrugged. 

“This was… the morning, two mornings ago, yes?”

She turned her bright blue eyes back to him, softened by the memory of the last turn of the earth. “Has it only been two days?”

He nodded absently. “I suppose that’s why he…” Jaime considered not telling her all, but he knew she deserved it, and better now from his lips than later from someone else. “Brienne, he was saying vile things about you. At the Pit.”

She shrugged. “I ended his game, Jaime. I’m sure that’s--”

“--Brienne.” He sighed and met her eyes straight on, “I struck him. Likely not long after you dismissed him.”

She swallowed. “Did he--”

“--He didn’t have a chance. Addam had overheard him just before I got there, and when I understood his deception I confronted him…”

“You--”

“--I went in there… I had no plan except to dress him down, but when he…” He felt himself drifting and held her hand tighter. 

“Jaime. Jaime.” He met her eyes again. “It’s alright.”

He nodded, dropping his eyes to her arm just above where her hand met his. “He couldn’t see you, Brienne. He didn’t know you. He could never see you for all that you are. He sees clouds bright in the night sky and imagines that they carry their own light. It would never occur to him that behind those clouds is the brilliant moon,” his finger swiped across a cluster of freckles near her wrist, “the moon, and the stars…” he met her eyes as she sucked in a breath. “I went in there, no real plan, no weapon just…” he squeezed her hand, “he never saw me coming, really. I could have killed him.”

She leaned forward, holding his hand in both of hers, “But you didn’t.”

“No. For you, no.”

“Jaime…”

“I know. It was impulsive.”

_ Silly man _. 

“That’s not what I was going to say.”

“What then?”

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Seeing me.”

He moved quickly across the cab to squeeze next to her on the bench so that he could lean his forehead against her, one of her hands clasped to his chest with his. “I’ve always seen you.”

“I know. I know. And I see you. Now I see you.”

“You do.”

“And I will make sure that your aunt sees you, too.”

He smiled and kissed the mark on her cheek, fitting his lips to it. “I hope to have her see both of us, love.”

He kissed her other cheek, and they spent the rest of the ride entwined just enough to feel content, and apart just enough to avoid the telltale signs of their joint desires, forestalled just long enough for a dinner with their friends. 

* * *

What the newlyweds did not know, what they could not have known, was that Olenna Lannister would arrive at Hunter Place some half an hour ahead of them. Margaery had told her of Lady Stark’s invitation and of Brienne going there sometime after their having left to go shopping. She knew that Brienne would in all likeliness be staying there for a few days yet, but not having been told herself, and then Mr. Hunt not making his usual evening appearance at Kingspyre Place twice in as many days left her suspicious. 

She had arranged everything properly with him the night of the concert - he would call while she was out with her grandchildren, and officially declare himself to Brienne. It was a good enough match - he was a proper sort of man with somewhat weak tastes, but as such he had no grandiose aims; he was not the kind of man who would outshine Brienne in any way - either in looks or amiability. He seemed to have a good, thoughtful head on his shoulders and, regardless of money, they might be pleasantly happy together. She had enough in her coffers yet, and certainly enough room in Kingspyre even, to assist them. The old woman did not delude herself into believing the girl in love with him, but she thought that he liked her well enough and that if only her charge would rid herself of her fruitless obsession with Tywin’s son, she might find happiness and find herself capable of loving this man. 

So when Brienne was scuttled away and Hunt did not turn up, she felt a change in the air. Loras had been out and about, in town and at the sparring club the afternoon before and just that morning, but had seen neither of them. The former Lady Lannister began to worry for the girl. Could she have overcompensated in her haste to pull her away from Jaime and have pushed her too much in Hyle’s direction? Could they have done something rash? Eloped? Could she have been mistaken in her assessment of him, and now put the girl in danger of being played as a pawn in some game of his. She desperately hoped not. 

Brienne had seemed unperturbed when they’d returned to the house after he should have been there. She had seemed altogether well, if a little tired from her sudden fatigue the evening before. But there’d been no mention of the man. Olenna knew that something was amiss. It would not do for both to be missing, and as she had no claim on Hunt’s person and whereabouts, she sought instead to confirm Brienne’s. And so she and the Tyrell siblings had delivered themselves on the doorstep at Hunter Place inappropriately long before the appointed hour, had been welcomed in with a little hesitation, and had settled themselves pleasantly in the drawing room as the ladies were all still above, preparing for dinner. 

One pair of hawkish eyes spotted Brienne’s valise positioned by the door, but with no owner in sight. 

* * *

When Catelyn opened the door to Brienne, her face was a mix of joy, confusion and caution as she looked frantically between her and the empty space behind her. She made a show of saying “Oh, Brienne, there you are! We were beginning to worry you’d gotten lost in the stalls!” and then embraced her whispering, “Where is the captain?” 

Brienne smiled in confusion at her friend’s outburst, whispering back, “He’ll be along shortly. We decided arriving separately was best. What is the matter?”

Catelyn sighed. “I’m glad you did. Lady Olenna arrived early. The children only know to not say anything about yesterday, and I’ve told Olenna that you went to make a purchase.” Her eyes flashed, and Brienne nodded curtly, following her into the house. 

“Brienne, where have you been?” cried Olenna from the drawing room. 

Brienne smiled a practiced smile, removing her gloves and unbuttoning her pelisse for Catelyn to take and put aside. “Hello! I thought I would be back before you arrived, aunt.”

“Not so.”

“I… uh I had to go and collect… these!” She held up the kid gloves in her hand before handing them to Catelyn to put away. “I ordered them yesterday and remembered that I had not gone to collect them as expected.”

Olenna cocked an eyebrow. “Your new obsession with gloves is curious my dear.. and that dress?” Olenna was eyeing Brienne’s attractive navy-colored gown and the white shawl on her shoulders. 

“Purchased yesterday, actually. I thought I could do with something a little warmer what with winter coming.”

“Hmm and aren’t you warm enough? Come, sit by the fire and take off that shawl, it’s _ too _warm.”

“Oh, no thank you. That is, I’ll keep it on for now. I’m still feeling a little chilled.”

Catelyn entered the room and took Brienne’s elbow, guiding her to the settee near the window where she might not be too warm, and then asked Olenna if she needed anything before departing the room again. Olenna turned to face Brienne. 

“Lady Stark runs this house without a staff?”

“Yes, ma’am. I believe she prefers the intimacy of having a hand in things.”

“Hmm.”

The bell chimed at the front door, and Brienne stilled her shaking leg. It would be Jaime. He would not be a surprise to the group. His cousins and the Starks would all be happy to see him. It was only Olenna they need worry about, truly. As Catelyn made for the door, Olenna stood gingerly and crossed the room to sit beside Brienne. 

Brienne sat up straighter and adjusted her skirt so that the older woman might have room. 

“I did not know you were gone. I had to hear it from Margaery.”

“Yes, I know.” Brienne was doing her best to not look at the door. To not look to see Jaime come through it. She twined her left hand into her shawl. “Lady Catelyn’s invitation was quite last-minute, and I did not wish to disappoint the children. Bran especially is feeling cooped up here in the city, more so than at home where he has more room. He likes the company.”

“Hmm.”

And then Jaime was through the door and removing his hat. He was schooling his glances to fall first on his cousins rather than to dart directly to where he felt her to be. 

_ Patience _. 

Brienne tried to keep her attention on Olenna. 

“Have you not seen Mr. Hunt these last few days?”

Brienne looked the old woman straight in the eye, and lied. “No, ma’am I’ve not seen Mr. Hunt since the night of the concert when I was ill.”

“I see.”

“Has he not been by? Has he not kept his usual appointment?”

“No, Brienne, he has not.”

“How strange. I do hope he has not fallen… ill, that is.”

Olenna squinted at her, and then finally turned to look at her nephew. “Jaime. How do you do?”

Jaime approached and gave his aunt a little bow. “Very well, aunt, exceedingly well in fact, thank you for asking.”

Olenna waved her hand in dismissal, and a small spark of a smile crept across his lips. His eyes turned to Brienne and he reached for her right hand, which she offered, and he bent to kiss. “I understand you were unwell, Brienne, I hope you’re better now.” He touched his lips to her hand, and she automatically ran a finger across his wrist. She noted his use of her first name as if avoiding the existence of her maiden name all together. 

_ Patience _.

“Yes, thank you. I am much better now.” Suddenly she was indeed too warm.

“Excellent.” There was movement behind him and her eyes ticked to his right side. He let go of her hand, and turned to see Captain Payne approaching, readying a warm embrace. Unlike any time she had seen him, the young man’s eyes were sparkling brightly as he shook his friend’s hand. 

“Good to see you again, Jaime.” The smile on his face, and the way his eyes moved to Brienne and then quickly back as if reminding himself he needn’t greet her, told Jaime all he needed to know. Catelyn had been as good as her word, but there were some suspicions that might not be as easily abated. Podrick knew him as well as anyone. Even if someone in the house had not already been aware of his bliss, Podrick would have sniffed it out. Jaime took his friend’s arm and moved away from the ladies, towards the entranceway where Loras and Gendry were chatting. 

Olenna sighed, shaking her head. “I can’t but think of where Hyle has gotten himself off to.”

The growing distance between herself and her husband sparked some irritability in Brienne’s tone. “Perhaps it’s not for us to know, aunt. After all, we don’t know much of Mr. Hunt’s history at all, do we?”

“Well, he’s--”

“--He’s no one. I don’t mean to be unkind, but he has no prospects as far as we’ve been told, he has manners and some level of taste, but he is by no means connected with us except through happenstance, is that not right?”

Olenna grew impatient. “Any man can _ become _ an honorable man, Brienne. He needs only the tools and the encouragement to do so.”

Brienne grinned and reached over, patting the old woman’s hand. “I’m glad you’ve said that, aunt.”

Just then Arya came from the main hall, pushing Bran ahead of her. Both were terribly excited to see Captain Lannister in their midst, but when Bran saw Brienne he paused and asked Arya to roll him over to her and Lady Olenna. 

Brienne looked from Bran to Arya and back again. “Everything alright?”

He was smiling. “Your new dress looks very nice on you, Brienne.”

“Oh, thank you, Bran.”

“Did you know that ancient kings used to wear that color to protect themselves?”

She gave him a curious look, “No, I didn’t. What do you mean?”

“They did. The dark blue, like sapphires, it was thought to be protective against one’s enemies.”

Olenna waved her hand in irritation. “Curious boy, what on earth made you think of that?”

“Well, it’s just the color… it matches perfectly with the sapphire ring that Brienne is wearing.”

The whole room went still, and several pairs of eyes all congregated on Brienne’s left hand which had been left uncovered when she’d reached for Lady Olenna. Brienne’s eyes darted up to find Jaime with a look of mirth in his eyes which she met with her own. 

And then there was chaos.

* * *

In the end, all was well - though dinner was delayed and many tears were shed, mostly happy. Catelyn took Olenna aside and consoled her, reminding her that their dearest wish had always been for Brienne to be happy, and reassuring the older woman that Jaime was honorable and worthy of her. Eventually Brienne sat beside Olenna again and the old woman took up her hands and held them tightly. “I hope that I’m proven wrong, my girl. I hope that he is worthy of you. But if not, if I’m right, then you can always come home. You will always have a home with us.”

Brienne had squeezed the woman’s hands back, embraced her, and then moved away for Margaery to sit and console her further while Brienne went to join her husband standing near the hearth with the Stark girls. She slipped her hand into his, and Sansa asked her to recount for the group the moment that Jaime had asked for her hand. Brienne blushed, recalling what they had been doing just before his declaration. “Did the captain get down on one knee?” cried the girl. “Pod got on one knee when he proposed to me, didn’t you?” Podrick blushed a little himself and nodded. 

“Two knees, actually,” Jaime interjected before Brienne could give reply, “she bested me. Drove me to my knees. And I could not go another day without marrying her.” His eyes burned green, inches from hers, and she turned her cheek to let him press his lips to it while the girls went on discussing their own impending weddings. Arya, for once, seemed comfortable on Gendry’s arm, and Jaime thought she actually looked happy, hopeful. 

Dreams were spoken into the air, plans for everyone’s return to the country were made, promises of Spring were uttered, and hopes for the future were shared all around. The aura of happiness in the room was impermeable and did not dissipate, following Jaime home with his wife where he spoke his own hopes and dreams and promises into her skin until Brienne’s blushes glowed in the moonlight.


	34. Chapter 34

Within a week, the Lannisters and the Starks had left Harrenhal behind them. 

Jaime had written ahead to his father advising him of his recent acquisition of the townhouse in the city, which he intended to keep for seasonal visits but which he subtly suggested Tywin make use of in light of the other contents of the letter, namely his marriage and his imminent return to Casterly Rock with his wife; then he wrote a second letter to Tyrion to share the same news, along with Brienne’s interjection of hopes for Tysha’s health in the last days of her confinement. 

There were few parting words between the pair and the residents of Kingspyre Place, though Loras went out of his way to say his goodbyes when they took their leave of Addam at the Pit. And thankfully there was no need to really part from the Starks. In Brienne, Jaime had all the love he needed, but with the Starks he gained more affection than he knew what to do with; with Podrick about to be inducted into that family, Jaime found himself feeling truly a part of it as he’d once daydreamed, surrounded by love, admired without artifice. He had never felt that with his own family, and though it pained him to admit it, he knew that the majority of his relations were just not capable of that level of intimacy. He was now determined to never stop feeling that love and adding to it in anyway that he could, so it would grow like a carefully tended garden they could stroll in but also draw from, so they could stand back and admire it but also pick the ripe fruit planted there and savor them year round. Traveling back to the country together only encouraged Jaime’s desire to lean into and expand on that feeling, starting with spending as much time pressed against his wife on the cold road home as possible.

They rode west as the first winds of winter blew across the neck, and then headed north. The closer they got to Casterly Rock, the clearer the air felt. Once the frost-tipped wheat fields of home came into view, Brienne was buzzing excitedly. Jaime held her hand and drew her to his chest. They would finally really be home, home in the place where he had first fallen in love with her. He promised himself that, once winter had passed, he would tug her hand through every field, every orchard, every meadow until no single blade of grass might recall a time before they were there together. They would bring spring forth together, and relish in new life in all its forms. They parted with the Starks at the crossroads with promises to attend Arya and Gendry’s wedding in a fortnight, and Sansa and Podrick’s shortly thereafter. 

On their arrival at the house, the staff welcomed Brienne back warmly and, after understanding the cause of her return, welcomed Jaime with a hesitant but similar warmth. The housekeeper then directed them to the study where a letter left behind a few days before was awaiting Jaime, written in Tywin’s hand. 

Brienne offered to step out while Jaime saw to his correspondence but he would not hear of it. Instead, he sat on the sofa by the window and tucked her hand into his elbow as he read. 

According to the letter, Jaime’s good-brother Robert had died suddenly on a hunting accident some ten days before, and as Robert and Cersei’s marriage had been childless, the estate would pass to Robert’s brother Stannis who was being insistent on the house being vacated. In light of that news, and knowing that his headstrong son was returning to Casterly Rock with an inappropriate wife, as he called her, Tywin had chosen to take leave of the neighborhood for a time. He was going south to escort his daughter to Harrenhal, to the house that Jaime was leaving behind, and from thence perhaps find a new husband for her. For a moment, Jaime shared raucous laughter with his wife at the idea of Tywin pursuing poor Loras for the cause. 

But then Tywin went on to say that he was displeased with Jaime’s choice of wife; he acknowledged that there was nothing to be done for it now, and he didn’t think that his health would sustain further argument on the subject. His going to Harrenhal would serve a dual purpose - to lend aid to Jaime’s sister and to address his health at the spas there. In the postscript he hoped that he might work toward elevating the Lannister name in his efforts, finding his daughter a husband who might “contribute to the family rather than sapping from it”. In direct response to his father’s missive, Jaime threw the letter into the fire, and rather than letting the passions that often boiled into rage inside of him when antagonized by his father overtake him, he found he had better ways to express those passions. Jaime took Brienne in his arms and made love to her there on Tywin’s oak desk.

For the rest of the winter, they cozied into every corner of the estate. Arya and Gendry married and settled back at Winterfell where Gendry could still manage the foundry. And, much to Catelyn’s satisfaction, Sansa too would be settled nearby. There were many vacant residences in the neighborhood of Casterly Rock and Jaime found that, unlike his father who preferred to exert control over everything himself, he needed a steward, and Captain Payne needed an occupation. Following their wedding, Sansa and Podrick were settled in a cottage near the manor, which proved excellent for both husband and wife, both having a friend so nearby. Jaime felt the clouds in his mind finally parting. 

* * *

Contrary to Jaime’s plans, when the first blooms of spring came it was Brienne who did the dragging. While he had committed long hours to understanding the books, establishing new practices with his steward, and seeing to the occupation of the empty homes in the village, Brienne had taken the wheel and was true captain of the household and was now anxious to be out in the sunlight. She’d tied herself up with learning all that she did not know from the housekeeper so that she might make a proper hostess (he of course told her that any guests might sit on the floor and use the curtains for napkins for all he cared so long as she was happy, but she was determined), and she’d been feeling too contained for months: understanding menus and grocer bills; hiring staff who had been let go during Kevan’s decline or who had been dismissed when Tywin arrived; outfitting the entrances to the house with ramps as she’d promised herself she’d do for Bran; visiting sick or elderly tenants; and offering charity to the poor who lived just outside the village. 

Sansa had gone with her on many of these visits, and Jaime observed that while Brienne seemed to be brightened by them, her optimism increasing with each of her efforts, Sansa seemed to mature more and more at each turn. He would never not regret her fall, but he cheered himself to recall that not only had it given her a chance to love more deeply with Podrick than she might have with any of her girlish obsessions, it had also inevitably brought Brienne back to him. And seeing them together was a constant reminder of how grateful he was for all these second chances. And the darkness retreated a little more. He breathed a little deeper. His heart expanded a little wider and the feelings he often found so overwhelmingly painful became tears of joy in his eyes. 

At the first sign that the frosts were ended, Brienne ran to the study and dragged him out by the arm to spar with her in the orchard. Jaime delighted and never felt more sure of his place in the world than right there sparring with his wife, dancing in a way only they knew how. 

In the second week of spring, Jaime finally bested Brienne. She yielded to him ecstatically, and then sprang up from the ground and tugged him towards the rear of the house, to the top of her meadow where they laid together in the tall grass, among the early budding forget-me-nots and cornflowers, under the unfurling spring ferns and fuchsias until nightfall, returning both much more disheveled than when they had left. Jaime walked with a renewed spring in his step and a constant twinkle in his eyes, Brienne with a pureness and clarity of passion and determination burning in hers that warmed and transformed everything she graced with her presence.

When the world was made warm enough, their visitors came. Tywin’s extended absence had made it easy for the couple to be able to invite those they most wished to celebrate the season with and, for a few weeks, Casterly Rock was filled with more love than any house in the region could claim to know. 

Tyrion and Tysha came west from Maidenpool and stayed on several weeks with baby Ella - a preciously small babe who looked even smaller in the arms of her aunt and uncle. Catelyn rode down the Winterroad with Bran in the carriage for a stay of a few weeks as well while Arya and Gendry rode behind, for their obligations would take them back home a little sooner; and the Starks’ presence meant that Sansa and Podrick were even more often than usual making trips across the fields from their cottage to the main house. 

Captain Snow and his wife had been invited as well, but as Jon was headed back to sea they had to decline with promises for another year; Addam Marbrand however, who still had family in Lannisport and often liked to make the trek across the countryside in late spring, did come. And in doing so, he found that he - much like his friend - quite enjoyed the affections of those present. Arya had insisted on a match the second he had dismounted from his horse on arrival, and he was happy to oblige. He found hers and Brienne’s company to be entertaining, found Bran’s conversations to be surprising and amusing, and having now met Catelyn he seemed dedicated to any opportunity to show himself off. 

On the first day of summer, when all of their guests were gathered, a picnic was arranged. It was a beautiful day - the sky blazed blue, the trees seemed to stretch toward the sun in their best, brightest, most verdant hues, and the honeysuckle dripped languidly from every bush. Everyone situated themselves at the top of the meadow at the back of the house, close enough that the tea could be kept warm, but far enough away that they could enjoy the full air of the day. 

Addam had devised a way to put stops in front of Bran’s wheels to keep him from rolling down the hill, and had then positioned himself between the boy and Catelyn, regaling the ladies with far-fetched tales he’d heard from some of his patrons. Jaime and Brienne positioned themselves nearby with Tyrion and his family, gleefully passing the giggling infant between them as they shared plates of cold roast chicken, ham, pickled beetroot, pigeon pies with apricots, bread with gooseberry jam, blackberries, cucumbers, and currant cakes baked just that morning. 

Sounds of laughter permeated the air, especially among the Starks. At one point, Catelyn’s unbridled laughter caught Brienne by surprise and she turned to look at Jaime who met her glance with a knowing wink, promising some secret knowledge. Once tea had been served, Brienne took her husband aside under the auspices of walking a favorite path along the shrubs on the southern side of the field where the flowers grew thickest. Once they were out of earshot, Jaime placed a kiss on Brienne’s shoulder and she ducked her head toward his to hear him speak low. “Catelyn seems happy.”

Brienne snickered, “Clearly you know something.”

“You mean about Lady Stark’s… composure?” the amusement on his face evident.

Brienne scoffed, “I’ve never in my life heard her so free as she’s been today.”

“Maybe she’s just happy… you’re happy, aren’t you?” His grin was warm but his brow quirked up. 

“I’m terribly happy,” she replied with some impatience, “and today is a pleasant occasion, but Catelyn… she seems… affected.”

Jaime paused, hesitating, then met her glance, nodding, “Addam has expressed an interest in getting to know the lady.”

Brienne’s eyes grew wide, a smile growing on her lips, “He’s…”

“Let’s say he’s making an effort.”

“Jaime!”

Jaime shrugged, “He’s a good man, Brienne.”

“You don’t have to tell me, I know. But… is that why he’s been… I mean he’s been so kind with Bran and all these last couple of days.”

“I’ve known Addam Marbrand almost my whole life. He’s not really capable of artifice, and I really think he’s taken to the boy. He already gets along quite well with Arya.”

“Of course. But…” Brienne recalled the way Addam had seemed taken with her, with Margaery, with Loras, “Jaime, doesn’t Addam just...”

He laughed openly, knowing where her thoughts were headed, “He comes across that way, yes. He has an open heart, and that makes it easy for him to appear…”

“Cheeky.”

Jaime laughed, “Yes, cheeky. A flirt, even. But he’s made his intentions known to me, Brienne.”

“Oh.”

Jaime nodded again. “I think they could be well-suited, don’t you?”

Brienne worried her lip. “He’s younger than her previous husbands.”

“True. But not by so much. What’s ten years when love is in play?”

Brienne smiled sadly, the memory of ten years of Jaime’s absence playing through her mind, “In this case, not so long.”

“I agree.”

She pressed her forehead to his and sighed. “Have you recommended to Addam that he press his suit?”

He circled her waist with his arms. “I have.”

“Alright. Then I will find a way to speak with Catelyn and suss out her feelings without making her think we are conspiring against her.”

Jaime nuzzled his nose against her jaw. “The only person I want to conspire against is you, love.”

She laughed and gave him more of her neck. “That’s not the meaning of that word sir, as you well know.”

He hummed into her shoulder and it was some time before they made their way back up the hill to their friends. When they did, Catelyn had begun cleaning up from tea and Brienne went to her to see to her own duties, and to ensure that she could speak with her friend privately in the safety of the kitchens. 

As she set the tray down on the butcher block, she saw that Catelyn kept glancing out the wide windows onto the lawn where Addam had picked up a stick and was showing Arya some form or other, and being mimicked with another stick by Bran, turning now and then to give the boy a correction. Brienne smiled, seeing how encouraging Addam was being without really knowing he was being watched. She joined her friend at the counter’s edge. “He seems very good with Bran.”

“Hmm? Oh.” Catelyn pinked a little but then turned away from the window. “It’s nice to have someone take an interest in him. Gendry and Podrick are both wonderful of course, but they’re so young and thankfully in love with my daughters, and I cannot complain about that. But sometimes it feels like I’m all Bran has in the world.”

Catelyn began going about moving the cups and saucers from the tray, but Brienne put her hand on hers to stop her. “Catelyn, might I say something?”

She nodded. 

“I do not think it is only Bran in whom Mr. Marbrand has taken an interest.”

Catelyn blushed again, but this one stuck. “Oh? He seems like the type of man who is just… kind to everyone, no?” There was a spark in her eyes. 

Brienne smiled and patted her friend’s hand. “He’s a bit of a flirt, I grant you. But I believe he has a great depth of feeling. Addam is a good man. Jaime has known him all his life and would vouch for him right here if he were not…” Brienne looked out the window in the group’s direction and rolled her eyes, “...arguing with his brother about gods know what.”

Catelyn cracked a smile. “Mr. Marbrand has been very… complimentary.”

Brienne nodded. “And are you receptive to those compliments? If not I, or Jaime, one of us can speak to him.”

Catelyn’s eyes flashed, “Oh no no no I wouldn’t ask you to trouble yourselves. I can…” she smiled to herself, “I can manage him.”

Brienne said no more, only nodded and then went about clearing the tray. Eventually, Catelyn wandered back outside with a sigh. Brienne watched as Addam greeted her not far from the house and offered her his arm, gesturing towards the trees to the north of the meadow. Brienne’s smile matched Catelyn’s as the two disappeared between the hedgerows, and still shone when Jaime’s eye caught hers with a sparkle as the sun sank a little lower in the sky.


	35. Chapter 35

A week, and some more advanced conversations later, and the couple was once again alone in the house. All of their visitors had finally departed by luncheon, the summer midday heat swelling in their wake. Brienne felt exhausted after all of the excitement of the past few weeks, and the day had seemed interminably long already, but she was determined to finish tallying up the house expenditures for the month before supper time. Sitting in the smaller study adjacent their bedroom on the upper floor, a room that traditionally would have been her bedchamber had she and her husband found any need to keep separate chambers, she was deep in concentration, busily jotting tabulations down in the ledger, when she felt Jaime approach from behind and run his fingers through the loose tendrils of her hair.  
  
Brienne sighed heavily. “Jaime, please, there is work yet to do. Cease touching me so that I may focus.” He had been at this all day. He had run his hands up her arm, squeezed her waist, trailed his fingers over hers during breakfast in front of their remaining guests, and generally seemed intent on touching her at every given opportunity even after they left, which had been very distracting, and was making it very difficult for her to ignore her own growing desire to respond in kind, despite her intention of finishing this task. She knew that he had been impatient to once again be alone together after sharing their home with so many visitors for so many weeks, and she was not unaffected by that same sentiment, but they had responsibilities which needed attending to, and she meant to finish what she started.  
  
Jaime put his hands up into the air in surrender but the look in his eyes was heated, promising nothing of the sort. Looking at her intently, he deliberately began to unbutton his waistcoat and then shrugged it off his shoulders. Folding it neatly, he laid it next to her on the bench. He arched his brow as a slow smile crossed his lips, and he began unlacing the top of his shirt.  
  
Brienne knew the game he was playing at, but she was in no mood to humor him. Setting her things down, pushing back from the desk, she stood up and pointed her finger at his chest. “Stop it.”  
  
Jaime pulled his shirt out from his waistband, his eyes still on her. “But… I’m not touching you.”  
  
She huffed in exasperation, “I _ know _ what you’re doing.”  
  
He plastered a look of innocence on his face. “Not touching you, as requested. _ That _ is what I’m doing.” Pulling his shirt up above his head and dropping it to the floor behind him, he moved in closer. The air between them charged, his glance heated.

“Jaime…” she warned him off but her voice had begun to sound breathless.

“Brienne…” his voice was anything but. 

She backed up a fraction of a step. “No.”

He shook his head. “Still not doing anything to you.” He proceeded to unbutton his breeches, his gaze never wavering until slowly he dropped it to her mouth and licked his lips. 

She heard her heart rate increase. “This ...you…”

He lets his breeches fall to the ground. “Are you alright, my lady?”

“Jaime....” She was whining now.

He unbuttoned his undergarments, heat coursing through his veins. “Yes?”

Her throat was dry. “Please…”

The remaining fabric fell and pooled around his ankles. Kicking the garments away and taking himself in hand, he spoke, noting that his voice was now huskier than he thought possible at this hour of the day, “Is there something you need?”

Her eyes were smoldering orbs of blue flame as they burned into his. “Yes.”

His desire to touch her was barely contained. “I’m listening” he said, stroking himself instead.

Keeping her eyes on him, she lowered herself to her knees. “Don’t touch me. Whatever I do. Do _ not _touch me.” 

A strangled, unrecognizable sound escaped his throat in response to her seizure of control. “Oh gods…”

Brienne hesitantly touched her lips to his muscled stomach. Heat colored her cheeks, and inexperience in the art of seduction threatened to cow her, but she was determined. Two could play at this game, and it was finally time that she take a turn. Longing swooped in her belly and the ache between her legs grew stronger as she slowly kissed her way down his body, alternating from one hip to the other, one thigh to the other. Jaime moaned as she inched closer to his inner thigh, suddenly bucking toward her when she moved back up his leg to where the hair of his groin tickled her nose and chin. 

She had never felt more powerful than she did at this moment with Captain Jaime Lannister quaking and squirming under her hands, shivering at each kiss, desperate to touch her, but forbidden to do so. 

When she finally took him in her mouth and tasted the salty, satiny, heat of his smooth shaft, and felt his blood pulsing and rushing to respond to her, the ache between her legs turned into molten heat that threatened to seep from her. She felt a heady sweeping surge within as each stroke and brush and lick elicited deep groans of ecstasy from above her. The knowledge that he could only grip his own person when he would normally fist his hand in her hair or hold her to him with his arm made Brienne intensify her efforts, sucking him harder and deeper, almost feverishly, gripping tightly to the back of his thighs for leverage.

She could tell that Jaime was getting close, his legs vibrating in her hands. She pulled him out of her mouth and sat back to watch him, to delay his gratification a bit more. His eyes were half-hooded and his hand was slipping off of his sweat slick waist and trembling restlessly without a home on which to anchor. 

“You look so beautiful Jaime.” 

He grunted. 

“Do you know what it does to me to see you like this? You know that I desire you… that I always want you… even when I have other obligations… when I cannot allow myself the pleasure… I always want you. Do you want to see what you do to me? Do you want to feel it?” 

He nodded as his hand moved slowly towards her, his voice almost a plea, “Where do you want me to touch you?”

Brienne took his hand and brought it to her chest, letting him roam a bit, waves of desire coursing through her. Her skin felt hot under the thin fabric of her shirt and his fingertips tingled, relishing the ability to touch her. She could not know what wells of restraint he’d had to draw from in order to obey her, for he himself was unsure of how he’d accomplished it. She stood and began kissing her way back up his body, pulling his hand lower, down her stomach, past her navel and finally releasing him so that he could touch her freely.

He tugged at the string of her breeches, those breeches she loved to wear when no guests were expected and no visits were planned, those breeches he would love her to wear almost all the time, and loosened them before slipping his hand inside. When his fingers grazed her wet lips, he and she both groaned. “Gods be good you’re soaked. You enjoyed having your way with me, didn’t you?” He walked her back until she hit the wall behind her. “Now it’s my turn. Put your hands up behind your head, Brienne.”

She sucked in a breath, then raised her arms and pressed her hands to the wall. The sight of her vulnerable and wanton and entirely willing made him moan. 

_ Oh, I like this game very very much _. 

He slid his finger between her folds. Her hips automatically bucked against his hand, pushing him further into her dripping depths. He crooked his finger to pluck at his favorite spot within her, and she sang for him, arching into him, desperate to feel him anyway she was allowed while yet showing herself capable of the restraint he demanded. He plunged another finger into her. 

_ Oh gods. _

The sensation of being invaded but unable to fully respond to his movements, to pull him further, deeper, was maddening. Brienne stretched her arms up as if climbing the walls as he filled her, struggling to keep her hands off and away from him.

Seeing her legs begin to tremble, Jaime pinned her with his hips and increased the pace of his ministrations, moving his thumb to her clit. She moaned loud and husky and so completely herself as he brought her just to the edge and then… receded, her head falling forward, her hair hanging around her face. She was shaking, slumping down the wall, her arms still high as if aching to reach her peak with her fingertips.

He pressed his forehead to hers. “Tell me what you want.”

She was straining against the wall, arching to touch more of herself to him. She could feel him hot against her hip, her honey dripping down her thigh. “I want... inside... Jaime, I want.” She swallowed hard. “I want you deep inside, so deep that I never stop feeling you. I’m yours.” She moaned louder, “I’m yours.”

He captured her mouth and tugged her breeches off of her hips till they were loose around her legs and he could swirl the insides of her thighs with wet fingertips. He hitched one of her legs up around him so that they were perfectly aligned, and thrust forward, burying himself inside her. She stretched around him, her entire frame shaking between him and the wall, a long, low whimper falling from her lips.

“Press your palms against the wall”.

She nodded and did as he said. 

Jaime tilted her pelvis forward and put his leg underneath her, his knee against the wall, so her backside was leaning on it. He ground into her deeper before planting his palm on the wall too and used his stump to hold onto her hips. “I’m going to take you fast and hard, wench.” They both groaned as he slid out slightly and then jerked back into her. “Gods you’re tight this way.” He reared back again and slammed into her so deep that she screamed his name in a way he’d never heard her do before, a way that bore repeating.

He was stretching her, filling her, striking places inside of her she didn’t dream existed. Brienne felt like she was floating, bobbing above the surface as he tread beneath her and within her, his leg and arm supporting her lower body. She came apart violently around his cock, her knees losing their strength as she shouted. He wouldn’t stop. He kept filling her as she spasmed around him, squeezing, losing the will or ability to do anything but embrace him inside of her. She heard herself scream not once but three times, tightening her leg around his and urging him to take root inside her. She ground against him, riding each successive wave of pleasure as he kept driving into her.

He felt her walls squeezing him tight as he buried himself deeper and deeper inside of her, lost in the sensation of their bodies melding into one another at their cores. The weight of her helpless on him, submitting to his every thrust drove him onward like a man possessed. He didn’t want to give in to his own mounting desire, he didn’t want to end this torturous pleasure. He counted her screams, watching as her hands began to shake against the wall.

“Jaime… Jaime...” she whimpered, mouth slack, helplessly lost in her own pleasure. Her core tightened and shook, dragging him right to the brink with a series of shudders that gripped him tighter and tighter with each thrust until he was caught unaware by a spasm of his own ecstasy.

_ Oh gods _ .  
  
“Oh gods”.  
  
_ Oh gods.  
_ _  
_It was too much. He thrust twice more and spent deep inside of her with a guttural groan, emptying himself completely, wholly, delivering himself into her. His knees began to buckle, and he lowered his leg, leaning into her and into the wall. He brought her arms down off the wall to rest on his shoulders, panting into her neck, their sweat mixing and spreading as they supported each other, hearts hammering as one.

Brienne gripped his shoulders, her legs quaking and leaned into him weakly. He was still inside her, pulsing where they were joined, sending tremors and aftershocks across her body. She moved her sweaty brow against his, his curls tangling with her limp locks, the heat of his neck intoxicating. She was so soaked and full of him that if she shifted at all he might slip away and send a gush of their love to the floor. So she stilled and held him tighter, not wanting to yet burst the dam of their lovemaking, wishing to preserve this sensation forever.

Jaime chuckled deep in his chest, his breath stirring the hair at her temples. “So, what shall we name him?”

Brienne rolled her eyes, but huffed through her pants, “You’re very sure of yourself.”

“And you’re very full of me.” He writhed his hips against her, his softening cock sliding against her still-sensitive center. 

“Hmm. What if you are successful this time, but it’s a girl? What then?”

He hummed into her cheek. “I would love that. I would love any child made of you and me, all the more if they are anything like you, my love, for you are everything good and fine in this oft-cruel world. Our child - any child of ours - would be most cherished. Would _ you _ like that? Would you like to try for a houseful of little Briennes?”  
  
She smoothed his hair out of his face, “Let us start with one and see how the gods favor us. We cannot be too greedy, Jaime.”  
  
“Oh, I aim to be greedy. Let us be greedy. The gods owe us, and I mean to make them pay. But first...” He dropped his mouth to her neck and sucked greedily at her skin.  
  
“Jaime!” Brienne slapped his shoulder as he pulled out and started to drag her, evidence of their combined surrender flowing down her legs, to the connecting room where their bed sat waiting to accommodate them, but her shouts of protestation soon devolved into more expressions of unabating love.

* * *

The day was warm but a steady breeze blew through the trees. Wind blew through her hair and ruffled her clothes. Brienne had removed her slippers at the door, relishing in the feel of the soft grass between her toes as she made her way gingerly through the meadow, blue cornflowers brushing against her ankles as she passed. The breeze carried the sound of their laughter swiftly across the wavering multitude of grasses and wildflowers and tickled her ears, before melting into her heart. 

Three golden heads shown in the distance, one of them graying at the temples and whipping about wildly as the other smaller two ran circles around him. The girls’ peals of laughter were met by deep rumbling ones as they dodged and wove to avoid their father’s large hand. Jaime was on his knees and lunging for them, fingers outstretched and wiggling, trying as best he could to make contact with their waists but they were quick and the game was more about the chase than the capture. 

_ Oh my darling, how you do love games. _

As Brienne got closer she saw that their fair freckled skin had begun to color slightly in the late spring sunlight, their tiny cheeks turning a bright pink, but she would not hurry them inside too quickly; even from across the field their blue eyes shone with a joy that no one with any depth of feeling would want to extinguish. They wore the identical matching sky-blue dresses that Lady Olenna’d had made for them at a very elegant little shop in Harrenhal, but the hems were dirty now and the fine white laces were coming undone. The ribbons Brienne had used to tie their curls back that morning had long ago been discarded, and it would take an age to get the knots out. But she would not have them any less carefree, nor ask them to laugh less heartitly or often. 

They had their father’s spirit and it made her heart soar to see her and her husband’s love spread into them. Jaime could no longer think his rampant passions a weakness, nor an aberration, when he saw his own soul so beautifully reflected outside of himself and refracted into their daughters. Arianne was prone to daydreaming and shyness at times, while Alysanne had a mischievous streak and loved to tease her sister mercilessly, but they were both so kind and generous that Brienne could only look upon them with pride and gratitude. 

Alysanne grabbed her twin’s hand and they both sprinted around Jaime together - an unforeseen mistake on their part, for it slowed them down enough to be finally wrangled. Grabbing the four-year-olds in the crook of each of his arms, he toppled and brought them crashing into his chest, and nuzzled his head into theirs to assault the tops of them with kisses. Brienne’s heart nearly burst with love at the sight. 

_ I am theirs, and they have always been mine. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well! What a journey this has been. When we set out to write this, we had a good idea of where we wanted to take it. But we had no idea where it would take _us._ You, the readers, have really made this experience so incredibly fulfilling.  

> 
> **From Sapphires & Gold:**  
I thought this was going to be a super niche project. As someone who already has another GOT/Austen fusion WIP, I was pretty set on doing it just to enjoy the process of combining my two OTPs - Brienne & Jaime, and Anne and Frederick. And when RA suggested writing it together, I was terrified. Not just because she's an incredible - and quick! - writer, but because I don't play well with others and I am so super protective of my babies and I didn't want to share. But she made me share. And it has been an overwhelming and extraordinary experience. She has challenged me in so many ways. And I'm so grateful to her for pushing me sometimes in directions I didn't want to go in order to make the story sing. I could not have made this story come to life without her.
> 
> **From RestedAbandon:**  
From the very beginning, we have felt loved and embraced and encouraged by everyone's comments and engagement with the story. Writing this story, and writing this particular Jaime, has been such a personal growing experience for me; this Jaime and this Brienne have taught me so much about myself and led to some very real cathartic moments. They've really soothed my soul with their love. I have so enjoyed writing this with S&G. She has made me a better writer overall. She is so generous and a true joy to work with, it seemed almost effortless, like we had achieved mind meld. Her attention to detail and editing made this story truly complete.
> 
>   
From the bottom of both our hearts, thank you thank you thank you.
> 
> XOXO


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